The Secret of Drowning
by momothelemur
Summary: A portal tears apart the barriers between worlds, dragging Emma and Hook down with it. The search for the portal that will lead back to Storybrooke detours through new lands and old territories where things are no longer the way they were. Trust is no longer an option, any alliance is temporary and each fight is worse than the last. Captain Swan.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, nor am I affiliated with Adam Horowitz or Eddy Kitsis. Title of the story is taken from a song by Carina Round. For the hat-trick of things I do not own, see basically everything.**

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**A/N: Hello, this is something I've had floating around my head for awhile. As you'll see, I've tweaked some things around for the purpose of the story. ****Please let me know what you think, reviews are very much appreciated (: **Enjoy!

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Emma winced as she slammed into the ground. She had no time to register pain; she had thrown her sword away on impact and her heart pounded with the need to retrieve it. She lunged forward for it, only to shout out in frustration as Hook caught her ankle and dragged her back towards him. She caught a glimpse of his face, snarling and victorious, before Mulan's startled cry caught both of their attention.

The bag containing Aurora's heart flew over their heads, about to plummet straight into the portal. Hook's sharp eyes followed the bag and without warning he took several quick steps closer to the vortex, his fingers still gripped around Emma's ankle. She struggled instinctively against his pull, not realizing what he was doing until it was too late. Using Emma as a means of counterbalance, he had leaned as far over the portal as he dared and was rewarded when the bag fell neatly onto his outstretched hook. Yet he was already dangerously off-balance, and a combination of the effort it took to hurl the bag to a safer place and Emma trying to kick her way out of his grasp proved to be his undoing. The ground around the portal crumbled away underneath Hook's boots and Emma saw a flash of panic in his eyes before he fell backwards. To her own horror, he would not let go of her ankle. Her fingers scraped painfully along the dry earth and rocks as she was drawn closer and closer to the portal's edge but she was unable to find something to anchor herself to. Emma glanced around wildly but her friends were too far away to help as she slid further downwards. She saw the heart land with a soft thud a safe distance away and registered relief before the portal swallowed her whole.

"Em-!" Mary Margaret's scream was cut off by a crashing roar in Emma's ears. Though the portal was in a lake, Emma felt like she was falling through a wind tunnel. She wasn't drowning, which was a fear that had flashed unformed through her mind in the initial moment of descent, but her breath hitched every time she tried to inhale. A curious weightlessness inhabited her body and made the sensation of being pulled down all the more unpleasant. She needed something to hold onto but only air slipped through her outstretched fingers. Thin streams of silvery water twisted around the circular edges with them as they fell, glowing in the darkness. Emma wanted to reach for them but experience told her to think better of it. In spite -or perhaps because of - the dim illumination, she couldn't see Hook. Logically, he would be somewhere beneath her (and God, was _that_ a sentence she would never say aloud) but she had a feeling that magic portals didn't subscribe to the laws of physics.

Had Mary Margaret - or, God no, Cora - jumped in after them? Emma couldn't find her voice to shout out and wouldn't be able to hear a response anyway. Panic, as sharp and biting as the portal's storm, clutched at her chest. Returning to Storybrooke without Mary Margaret was never part of the plan and she hated thinking that she would-

The world shifted and Emma found herself being propelled upwards through a great body of water. Her train of thought derailed completely into incoherent terror until her head broke the surface. An instinctual gasp for air burned her lungs. Waves rolled around her, submerging her just as an attempt at another breath turned into a mouthful of saltwater. She spluttered against the taste, shocked for a moment, before survival instinct brought her back to reality. She kicked against the dragging tide and her heavy clothes and was rewarded with a few more seconds of oxygen. Through the waves Emma could see that chipped tiles, faded with age, covered high-reaching walls. Far above, a sky the color of deep pink loomed. Confusion struck - _where am I? _- until a new sensation distracted her. The pressure of a solid grip around her arm, hard enough to bruise, fought against the tide to drag her closer and, after a tense moment, won out. The sharp sting of saltwater was replaced by something solid. The world still felt like it was rocking even as her waterlogged clothes weighed her down and Emma tried to grip onto the smooth, slippery tiles. The deep green floor was cold against the cheek she pressed onto it but she couldn't muster the energy to think, let alone move. For a few precious moments all she could do was breathe, gulping in the air so greedily that she almost choked.

"Well. That _is _a compromising position."

A shot of adrenaline jolted Emma back into action. She rolled herself over onto her back and reached for the sword that, she remembered to her dismay, was no longer there.

"Ah," Hook said, warning her off any further movement the way an adult would admonish a disobedient toddler. He stood over her, the sword that he had somehow managed to hold on to pointing dangerously close to her chin. Emma held eye contact, defiant even as her heart thudded in her chest. She shifted herself into a semi-reclining position using her hands as support. He tracked her every move.

"Looking for your sword?" Hook asked, a spark of victory igniting his eyes. His voice carried easily despite the crashing river beside them. Smug and dangerous and dripping wet, he had never looked more like a pirate. "Seems like you misplaced it. Bad form, sweetheart."

"Bad form is killing someone who can't fight back," she answered, glaring up at him. Though the cold tip of the sword wasn't touching her skin she could almost feel how her throat would slice open under it. She tried not to gulp, instead doing something useful and devising a back-up plan if Hook decided to attack. She couldn't clear her mind enough to think properly and so the plan amounted to "dodge the sword".

At Emma's words, something cold flashed across Hooks' face. It was hard and merciless and gave his beauty a cruel edge, but he relaxed it into his usual self-assured mask before Emma could put a name to the darkness.

"Fortunately for the both of us, I don't intend to kill you."

Emma found this difficult to believe in her current position. Hook read her expression with faint amusement, looking for an instant much more like the man she was used to dealing with than the pirate threatening her life.

"If I wanted you dead, it would have been easier to let you drown," he said, and after a moment sheathed the sword and offered out a hand. Emma stared at it, certain that there was some trick she was missing. Hook kept passing over chances to kill her, first by the portal and now in the river, which could only mean that he had something else in mind. Well, she wouldn't be a pawn in his whatever game he was trying to play. She pushed herself up, ignoring his offer of help, and brushed away the hair that had plastered onto her skin.

"Where are we?" she asked, scanning her surroundings for any hints as Hook pretended not to notice her rejection.

Hook had pulled her onto a ledge mere inches above the waterline that stretched on in both directions as far the river itself, though it was barely wide enough to allow two people to stand side by side. Another bank mirrored their own across the water that, on reflection, seemed smaller than when Emma was drowning in it. An intimidating room, no doubt, and not one that led to answers. Fighting against the frustration and panic that tightened her chest, she turned back to glare at Hook who was shaking the excess water from his long coat with an almost bored expression.

"Where did you take us?" Emma demanded, wishing she still had her sword.

"You mean this isn't your precious Storybrooke?" Hook asked, flicking an unimpressed glance around the space. His tone infuriated her; his dry sarcasm was just as unwelcome as he was.

"We're by a river in an old room, Hook, what do you think?"

Emma wondered if there was any chance at all of her stealing his sword from him. The knowledge that the chance was slim to none aggravated her further. Hook, unaware of Emma's internal debate, shrugged carelessly.

"That perhaps you had over-exaggerated the virtues of your little town. No place like home, after all."

Without warning, the river ceased its churning and lay in perfect serenity. Emma hadn't realized how loud the roaring had been until they were left in eerie silence.

"That's discomforting," Hook said with barely a glance at the water.

"Why are you not panicking right now?" Emma asked, suddenly suspicious. He couldn't have planned this. There was no way. It didn't make sense…but then, she wasn't operating on pirate wavelength.

"After the first few times of being stranded in an unfamiliar place, you learn that panicking is entirely useless," he explained, his eyebrow raised at her narrowed eyes. "If you're contemplating hysterics, be a dear and let me know. I should like to be elsewhere."

Hatred spiked through her. She had been _this_ damn close to returning home after fighting for so long only for Hook to have abandonment issues at the worst possible moment. It should have been her and Mary Margaret going through the portal and it should have landed them back in Storybrooke. Now she was lost, confused, and being with Hook seemed worse than being alone. He had dragged her into hell and he didn't even have the decency to seem sorry about it.

"You don't want to know what I'm contemplating," Emma said darkly.

"Something more original than murder, I hope." Though his words were easy, the vaguely teasing tone didn't reflect the severe look in his eyes. "I expect great things from you, lass, I hope you're not about to disappoint me again."

Emma wasn't about to revisit her betrayal on the beanstalk. It could barely even be classed as a betrayal; she had done what she had to do against a man she hadn't dared to turn her back on. She would do it again given the chance.

"Don't worry," she said, refusing to let the comment affect her. "The method I would use to kill you is pretty genius."

He held her gaze coolly.

"Glad to hear it."

This was no longer the familiar banter of their first encounter. It was verbal sparring, with each trying to get the upper hand and cut the other. Emma didn't want to be the one to propose a truce, even though she knew they couldn't continue like this if they wanted to have a chance at returning home. Despite how it had ended, they had made quite the team on the beanstalk and working with him again could work in her favor. They just needed to stop sniping at each other. She folded her arms across her chest, trying to ignore the way her clothes dripped with every little movement.

"The ashes and the compass didn't work. Why?"

Hook's fingers dipped below his collar and produced a thin, crudely made necklace. He moved his hand away and the makeshift pendant rested against his shirt.

"The bean," Emma said, frowning at it.

"Apparently even the restorative waters of Lake Nostos have their limits," Hook said, tucking the bean back into his shirt. He didn't trust Emma and wanted her to realize it. "The water must have revitalized the bean, creating a portal which conflicted with the wardrobe ashes. A shame we left the compass behind." His smile held a bitter edge. "Seems all that work on the beanstalk was for naught."

Again, Emma was not interested in his attempted guilt-trip. Instead of answering she looked into the water, which remained as still and smooth as a sheet of glass. The river seemed more like a swimming pool now that she could see its floor and walls, covered with the same tiles that adorned the rest of the room. She tried not to dwell on how easy it would have been to lose herself in the waves and hit her head. Perhaps she should at least acknowledge Hook saving her life. But no, it had been his damn grip that had pulled her down in the first place. They were even. Her focus moved away from the tiles and onto her own reflection.

"Can't you just throw the bean back into the water?" she asked, watching as the water mouthed the words back to her.

"This water isn't from Lake Nostos," Hook replied, following her gaze. "Likely all that would happen is that we lose our one chance of returning to familiar shores."

"Our?" Emma repeated, eyebrow arched.

If Hook was annoyed at being caught out, he didn't show it. Their eyes met in the reflections and a slight smile curled at the corner of his lips.

"Well, we _could_ go our separate ways but I'm learning it's unwise to bet against you, love."

Emma looked away first, pretending that she was unaffected by his compliment.

"That why you're so calm?"

"No one I'd rather be stranded with," he replied, but again bitterness poisoned his otherwise teasing tone.

They stood in silence for a moment before Emma pulled herself together. They had to leave; the sooner they found out where they were, the sooner they could find a way to escape.

(_They_, Emma noted with derisiveness. She had cast her lot with Hook without even realizing it.)

"The riverbank's got to lead somewhere," she said, her eyes sweeping from left to right. "Pick a direction."

Emma had expected a taunt about her bossiness but Hook only looked back to the water. She watched him, curious as he made mental notes on the sorts of things she supposed only pirates and sailors knew about.

"Go right," Hook said after a minute with no uncertainty in his voice. Emma pushed aside the confusion over how he could be so sure about information gathered from motionless water.

"Right it is." She held her ground, even though taking the right path meant that she was in the position to lead. "After you."

Hook, to her infinite lack of surprise, didn't move.

"I don't think I'm quite ready to trust you again just yet, darling," he mused, and while there was undoubtedly truth in his words, Emma felt like he was just saying it to be difficult. "How do I know you won't push me into the river?"

"Because I'm not twelve years old?" Emma returned, pushing away the visions of doing just that. When Hook merely raised an eyebrow, she changed tactics and scoffed. "A pirate who's afraid of a little water. Who'd have thought."

Hook's smile was devoid of warmth. "You weren't so dismissive of the water when you were drowning in it."

Emma couldn't argue this point and Hook knew it. If he was waiting for some sort of thank you for saving her life, he remained disappointed.

"Just walk," Emma said, nodding to the path on the right.

"Always so insistent that I go on ahead of you," Hook murmured, glancing at her as he passed. "I wonder what it is you're wanting to look at."

_The last bits of my sanity flying away,_ Emma thought, wringing her hair out as best she could and avoiding the splash the drops made on the tiles. This was more out of habit that anything; a tiny bit more water would make no difference to her drenched state. The tumultuous river had sprayed over onto the floor tiles, making walking a perilous task. Emma was torn between watching the floor and making sure Hook wasn't about to try anything. Her eyes flicked up and back down again as they walked, always keeping as close to the wall as they could. Emma's fingertips grazed the cracked tiles, careful to avoid any sharp edges.

"I'll be keeping the bean," Hook called back casually. "Insurance. You understand. It isn't that I mind being chained up," he continued when it became apparent that Emma wouldn't answer him. "But a little warning next time would be appreciated."

"You really need to get over that," Emma muttered, quietly but unavoidably reaching her breaking point. She was separated from her family with no idea how to get back, soaking wet, in a strange place with a man she couldn't trust, and she was pretty certain that the saltwater had ruined her boots. Usually footwear wouldn't rank high on her list of problems but, damn it, these were good boots.

"Only one way I can, love," Hook replied. Emma didn't have to see him to picture his dark expression,. "And I won't tell you what way that is while I have my back to you."

_Probably wise_, Emma decided. They walked on in silence, with only the occasional squeak of their shoes against the slippery ground to ease the tension. Emma was little more than defenseless whereas Hook not only had a weapon but the training to use it.

"How'd you manage to hold onto your sword?" she asked after a moment, curiosity getting the better of her.

His shoulders shook with a smug laugh. "I'm a pirate."

He gave no other explanation though really, Emma supposed, no other one was needed. Though she never would have thought it before, maybe it had been a good thing growing up feeling like she was being attacked from all sides with no one to trust. Hook was a danger to her, and despite his pretty face and charm and unsettling ability to read her, she wouldn't forget that.

After awhile the paralleling banks widened and met in a fusion of cracked tiles, sealing away the river. Hook strode in the center of the path while a cautious Emma remained close to the wall. She didn't trust that the newly appeared floor wasn't about to drop away, but soon she didn't have a choice. The walls sloped in, presumably meeting at a point ahead of them, and forced her to once again walk directly behind Hook. She could barely stretch out her arms without them hitting a wall.

"Not a fan of the architecture," Hook commented. His role of sassy interior designer made Emma smile despite herself; his vague ridicule of the place distracted her from her anger and fear.

Grass struggled up through the cracks in the floor tiles until it overwhelmed them completely. Emma shook her head, confused, but reminded herself that she couldn't judge a land of magic based on the laws of the world she called home.

They walked on the thin grassy strip just long enough for Emma to question if she had previously undiagnosed claustrophobia. When Hook finally came to a stop, Emma was trying very hard not to panic. She peered over Hook's shoulder, her panic swiftly changing to bewilderment.

"A door?" she asked, squinting at it.

Sunlight bled through the cracks where it had not quite fit into the walls, creating a door of light when in reality Emma was sure it as only made from common wood and perhaps a lick of paint. Still, she was happy to see it; sunlight meant an open space which meant no more tight enclosures.

"Aye," Hook said in response to her question, resting his hand on the doorknob. "Let's hope we don't need a key."

Emma was unconcerned. "I can pick the lock."

Hook was silent for a moment. Then an amused, half-admiring, "Of course you can," escaped him. Emma wasn't entirely sure that he meant to say it, and so waited in silence for him to open the door.

The doorknob turned with a satisfying click and the door opened after a slight push. Sunlight flooded the corridor, bouncing off the tiles and blinding Emma until she had to raise an arm as a shield for her eyes. A motion ahead told her Hook had done the same thing. They stood immobile until their eyes adjusted.

"Usually, I would insist that the lady goes first," Hook said, pressing his back flat against the wall. Emma, lowering her own arm, saw the way his eyes lit up. It had nothing to do with the sunlight and everything to do with mischief. "By all means, try and wriggle past me." He was rewarded with a stony silence. "No?"

The mischief was tempered by her rejection but didn't vanish entirely. He flashed her a smile and edged out of the corridor. As he faded into the light, Emma fought the wild theory that she was dead and this was the Light that everyone spoke of seeing. If this turned out to be true, she would be having some serious words with whoever she saw on the other side if they thought that arguing with Hook was a suitable way to pass a short time in purgatory.

She took a deep breath (_there__'__s a chance this is another portal_, she reasoned) and stepped forward. Warmth and light overtook her world. A sweet scent removed all traces of the damp tiled room she had left behind and soft rustling trees filled the silence left by the stilled river.

The feeling of peace disappeared the moment Emma was able to check her surroundings. Unnaturally large flowers loomed over the small clearing they had stepped, displayed in lurid colors. Emerald grass as tall as an ogre lay beyond, overshadowing a border of severe men standing shoulder to shoulder. It was at this that Emma froze. Each impassive man was dressed in a pure white tunic and held a long blood-red staff topped by a diamond-shaped…diamond? Emma blinked, focusing on the staff as though she had no other worries. As far as weapons went, diamonds weren't the most cost-effective way to go. Damn it, she wished she still had her gun.

"Gentlemen!" Hook greeted, spreading his arms wide as though he meant to hug them or welcome them into his domain. Emma noted how he could fully inhabit a space he had only taken five steps into and a grudging admiration arose. Hook made to move across the clearing but apparently thought better of it, coming to a stop in front of Emma. For every step he made, the men took three towards them.

"Don't fight the guards," Hook murmured, barely audible. He didn't look at her, his eyes fixed on the advancing men. "This is what we want."

"Guards?" Emma asked, her eyes snapping from guard to guard as they moved steadily inwards to form a tight circle around them, broken only by the gaping door that led back to the river. "What do we want? Where _are_ we?"

It unsettled her that Hook had no desire to try to and escape. He didn't seem one to back away from a fight unless a greater benefit lay elsewhere. She didn't trust him but she trusted her ability to battle her way out even less.

"Just do as I do," Hook advised, standing up straighter and walking forwards.

Worse advice had never been given, Emma was certain, but in this instance she did not have much of a choice. She watched as the guards gripped Hook by either arm and marched him forward into the tall grass beyond the clearing. Ten other men surrounded him, creating a formation that Emma would not have wished to tackle.

When the men came for her, she didn't struggle. Their fingers were tight on her upper arms and they maintained a steady pace. The remaining guards formed rank around her, leading her to believe that they considered the newcomers very important or very dangerous. She had a feeling it was the latter.

Up ahead, Emma heard Hook's valiant efforts to make conversation. Unacknowledged topics ranged from the weather to, bizarrely, local sports teams. Emma shook her head at the pirate Captain's efforts to charm his captors, though her amusement was replaced by shock when she heard his next question:

"So, what's happened in Wonderland since I left?"


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, nor am I affiliated with Adam Horowitz or Eddy Kitsis. Title of the story is taken from a song by Carina Round. For the hat-trick of things I do not own, see basically everything.**

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**A/N: Thank you for the amazing response to the first chapter, your reviews/favourites/follows all mean a lot (: Hope you all enjoyed "Selfless, Brave and True", I won't comment on it in case someone hasn't seen it yet. Hopefully this chapter helps with the hiatus...it's the longest thing I've ever written. Sorry/Not Sorry. Enjoy!**

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It was not shaping up to be Emma's best day ever. Even before falling through the portal to Wonderland (_Wonderland? Really?) _her day would have been classed as eventful. Now it was just hell. The world she found herself in was too colourful, too bright, like a five year old had gone wild with a finger paints. The sky, such a deep pink when they had been in the cavern, now peeked a garish, cloudless blue through the gaps in the large flowers overhead. Though none of the guards spoke, Emma could swear that she heard disapproving voices.

"Honestly, soaking wet and cavorting with a _pirate_!"

"Scandalous, Myrtle, just scandalous…"

Emma tried to slow down long enough to figure out where the voices came from but the guards pulled her on. The petals of one particularly pretty flower opened up as she passed, a delicate china pattern slowly revealing itself as Emma squinted up. She gasped when she met another set of eyes embedded deep into the flower. The shock wore off the longer she examined the flower, sadly thinking that Henry would be thrilled to see something like this. In the heart of the flower, seeds arranged themselves into the form of a mouth which, to Emma's fascination, moved.

"Someone's been naughty," tutted the flower, closing its petals again in admonishment.

_Did that flower just judge me?_ Emma asked herself, frowning as she left it behind.

Despite the last few days spent in the Enchanted Forest with Snow White, Mulan and Sleeping Beauty, Emma had a hard time coming to terms with the idea that she was in Wonderland. Perhaps she had merely hit her head harder than she realized in the river? Hook's voice drifted through the air, making idle chatter with the silent guards, and Emma shook her head. No, this had to be real; she would never dream of or hallucinate any scenario with Hook in it.

The flowers and grass grew steadily shorter before disappearing completely into the ground. In their place, a vast gray wasteland stretched on in all directions. Compact and colorless earth left no room for rocks or any signs of life. Even the sky overhead rumbled with threatening rain clouds.

"Where are you taking us?" Emma demanded over the synchronized sound of thudding boots.

She shook her arm, trying to attract the attention of the guard holding it. He gave no indication he even knew she was there beyond the tight grip he had around her.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

Emma stopped walking, expecting the guards to admonish her or double their efforts to move her. Yet they marched on regardless, dragging Emma alongside them with a maintained level of effort even when she dug her heels in. Not once did they acknowledge her. She shouted out in frustration as she rejoined the march to preserve her dignity.

"You making life difficult back there, sweetheart?" Hook called, amused and apparently entirely unconcerned with their current situation. As though to emphasize this, he turned to one of the guards and affected a conspiratorial - though still loud - voice. "She does that sometimes. Call it a charming character quirk."

"Why won't they listen to me?" Emma shouted back, tugging away her arm again. When there was no effect but her own discomfort, she gave up and, though she would never let him know this, began to copy Hook's relaxed gait. His confidence gave the impression that he was allowing the guards to restrain him and that, despite generously letting them think otherwise, he was the true leader in this little group. He brought independence to conformity.

"My guess is that they're Shells," Hook said, oblivious to Emma's semi-admiring thoughts.

Emma's mind flicked through the possible meanings of this (_Shotgun shells? Seashells?_) before realizing that she would have to ask. Asking questions had been her default setting over the last few days and now more than ever she missed the familiarity of her homeland.

"What are Shells?" She hoped Hook couldn't hear the grudging note; if he knew how she hated being in the dark, he would do everything he could to keep her there.

"They're victims of sorcery," Hook explained, and here his tone took on a more serious note. "Powerfully dark magic, not to be played with. The victim is stripped of his original self and filled with a single-minded purpose. No emotion, no empathy, just the urge to complete his mission."

Emma scoffed in an attempt to hide her horror. "Explains why you're getting on so well with them."

Hook didn't reply. Emma worried - no, not worried, _wondered_ - if she had pushed him too far. Well, she had spoken the truth and if couldn't face himself then that wasn't her problem. She occupied her mind with the query of who had sent the Shells and why.

They came to an abrupt halt. Emma's arms jerked painfully as she was forced to stop and though she knew the Shells would not respond, she cursed at them anyway. Hook's soft laughter didn't help matters.

Four guards remained around Emma and Hook while the others marched on ahead further into the wasteland. Everything about the Shells was perfectly synchronized, inhumanly so, and Emma tried not to wonder who the men were before their curse. They formed a horizontal line that stretched twenty men long. In unison the Shells lifted their staffs, upended them and slammed the diamond topper into the ground in front of them, cracking it open. For a moment, nothing happened. Even Hook was silent, intrigued by the practice. The Shells hadn't taken his sword from him, Emma noticed, and it gave her a small bit of comfort.

Her comfort levels dropped drastically as a deep roar shook the ground. Emma looked up and around wildly but the source came from beneath them. Hook took a step closer to her, his body tense in preparation for a fight, though the roar soon stopped. The guards surrounded them once more, silent and unmoving like living prison bars, but the spectacle was far from over. Emma strained to watch the ground in front of them sink away into a downward spiral of steps. She stared at the top step for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts.

"We're going to have to walk down there?" she murmured so that only Hook could hear.

He glanced at her, his lips pulling up into a smile at her discomfort. "Now isn't the best time to develop a fear of the dark, sweetheart."

"I'm not afraid," Emma insisted, bristling. "Not of the dark."

"But you _are _afraid of something," Hook said, choosing a peculiar time to cross-examine her.

Emma shot him a look designed to say _Not now_ but, of course, he ignored it.

"Nothing to be ashamed about," he said with a shrug. "We all have our fears."

Emma feared everything about her current situation. She feared never returning home, she feared leaving Henry with Regina, she feared leaving Snow at Cora's mercy, and she feared letting her guard down around Hook long enough for him to exploit these fears. Instead of saying any of this, she looked pointedly around at the Shells.

"I'm not talking in front of these guys."

"Why not? They can't hear you." He stood closely next to the nearest Shell and leaned over to bellow into his ear, "Can you, you git?" When the Shell did not so much as flinch, Hook moved away, satisfied. "See?" His smile was predatory. "We're completely alone."

"Wonder why that doesn't fill me with confidence."

The Shells began to move in single file and climbed down the steps. Emma followed without hesitation, in that moment more afraid of being pushed by the Shells and their unwitting strength than she was of turning her back on Hook. The rhythmic footsteps were oddly comforting as they all descended into darkness; they told Emma that there were steps ahead and she would not fall, as long as she was careful. She held onto that small piece of comfort as the sunlight faded away high above them and she was forced to reach out sideways for the dry stone walls that curved with the steps. Anything that help her feel like she wasn't about to fall into an abyss.

"How are you feeling, Swan?" Hook asked, his voice echoing down the stairwell.

"Been better," she admitted, able to acknowledge her fear in the darkness. "And to think I complained about climbing the beanstalk."

A confused pause. Then, "You didn't complain on the beanstalk."

"Maybe not out loud."

"Ah. Thought you were quiet."

"No, that was just to avoid talking to you."

Hook let out a rueful chuckle. "You are honest to a fault, darling."

"Honest? Damn, I was aiming for insulting."

"Same thing," Hook dismissed.

The rest of the descent was silent aside from footfalls and sighs of exertion from the humans. When the steps eventually evened out it was onto a long corridor made up of dark rock, illuminated by glowing white crystals embedded into the ceiling. Some Shells were already marching on ahead but Emma paused to catch her breath, leaning against the smooth wall. Despite thinking she had had enough of water to last for awhile after her struggle in the river, she would give anything for a drink. When Hook joined her in the corridor, his thoughts seemed matched to hers for he was pulling out his flask.

"Drink?" he offered. At her suspicious frown, he sighed and took a long draught. He swallowed without so much of a flicker in his expression, though Emma could smell the strength of the rum, and held out the flask again. "It isn't poisoned."

Emma's war with her pride and her thirst did not last long. She knew that if she turned down the offer now, it would not be given again. She took the flask, ignoring Hook's satisfied smile, and tipped back a small mouthful.

"Thanks," she said, handing it back.

Hook wouldn't take it. "Go on, love, have a bit more."

"No, I'm fine," Emma insisted, shoving the flask more forcefully at him.

He took it without further pressure and tucked it back away with a grin. "Afraid to lower your inhibitions around me?"

"My _inhibitions _are the only stopping me from punching you in the face," Emma told him, pushing herself away from the wall as the Shells behind them picked up their marching pace once more. "After everything you've done today I really wouldn't be goading me."

Hook easily matched her stride, keeping a safe distance from the Shells. Though they were surrounded, they were at least free from the Shells' painful grip.

"I mean, you do realize this is completely your fault?" Emma continued, glaring straight ahead at the back of the Shells' heads. Through her peripheral vision, she saw Hook's lips twitch in amusement born from disbelief.

"Don't sell yourself short there, lass, a good portion of the blame belongs to you."

"Hold up," Emma said, turning to look at him in indignation. His replying glance dared her to contradict him. "_You _opened the portal, _you _fell into it and _you _dragged me down with you."

"The latter two were unfortunate consequences of saving the heart of your friend," he reminded her, anger biting into his tone.

"Which you took in the first place!"

Emma's voice rang through the underground corridor at such volume that it reminded her she had to keep a cool head. When she was angry she was distracted, and now more than ever that was something she could not afford.

"No good deed goes unpunished," Hook muttered in the silence that followed.

"Yet all the bad ones seem to."

When Hook looked at her, his eyes held a peculiar expression. He had found something in her that he understood, that he shared, and it threw him off-balance. He blinked and looked away, unwilling to press it.

They trudged onwards in contemplative thought. Although Emma didn't know what they were about to face, she knew that she could at least gather as much knowledge as she could about her surroundings. Since the Shells weren't a talkative bunch, she would have to settle for Hook.

"So, you've been to Wonderland before?" Emma asked, ignoring the pain in her feet from walking so much.

"Just the once. A mission from Cora's daughter, Regina, asking me to kill her mother." At Emma's patient silence, he continued. "My assassination attempt on the Queen of Hearts went about as well as could be expected yet, fortunately, Cora saw fit to spare my life."

"_Cora's _the Queen of Hearts?" Despite her incredulous tone, it actually made sense to Emma. At least, as much sense as a revelation like that could make. "Huh."

She glossed over the fact that Regina had wanted her own mother dead - it was messed up but it was Regina, and Emma had learned not to expect any good deeds from her - and instead tried to think of questions she could ask that might help in the long run.

Finally, she settled for an underwhelming, "Any advice?"

"If a caterpillar offers you a smoke, probably best that you don't take it." Hook paused. "Actually, no, forget that. Smoke all you want. Might make you more malleable."

Emma ignored the last comment, though she had to admit that the warning piqued her curiosity.

"You make that mistake first time you were here?"

"Aye. Took a few drags and spent the next six hours questioning why my hand had turned into a hedgehog."

Emma laughed despite herself, wondering if there was anything in the world she would not trade to have seen that. She thought back on what she knew of Wonderland, small pool of reference though it was. She had read the book and watched a few movie adaptations but so far nothing was really matching up.

"I'm guessing we should stay away from the mushrooms, too?"

Hook grinned. "Don't need mushrooms, darling, I'm big enough already."

Emma wasn't sure if she admired Hook's ability to turn anything into an innuendo or if she found it increasingly annoying. Somewhere between the two, perhaps. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage him, so silence fell between them again.

The Shells stopped walking and Emma tried to prepare herself for whatever was to come. Sunlight lit the end of the tunnel, casting shadowy shapes of trees against the rock wall. Four Shells roughly separated their prisoners and took them by the arms again, receiving no resistance as they brought them forwards into the light.

Emma blinked as her eyes adjusted, and then blinked again in incredulity. A courtyard of pale marble lay at the foot of a white palace whose turrets and spires stretched into a sky that threatened snow. A handful of courtiers in elaborate dresses stood idly about, watching the newcomers with vague interest.

"But we didn't climb back up any steps," Emma said to Hook, standing captive beside her. She stared up at the sky in confusion. "We should still be underground."

"Don't try to apply logic here," Hook advised. "It's a land outside what 'should be'."

Emma nodded, though her mind could not keep up. She decided that, for now, it was best to just accept it and move on. Whoever they had been brought to was obviously important, probably royalty if the lavish surroundings were anything to judge by. Beyond the Shells, Emma could make out a dais in the centre of the courtyard, beneath a pair of white trees completely void of leaves. Apprehension set in when she saw the throne on top of the dais and the woman occupying it; if this woman - this Queen? - meant them harm, there was no way of escape. The courtyard was completely enclosed, the only exits were to enter the guarded palace or leave through the guarded tunnel. Considering that the guards seemed impervious to harm, neither exit was particularly viable.

Again without warning, the Shells burst into life and walked Emma and Hook into the courtyard, forcing them down into a kneeling position before the dais.

"That's enough," the woman said, her voice light and delicate. At her command, the Shells lined up outside the entrance to the tunnel and, as though someone had suddenly turned off their power supply, their heads drooped forwards until their chins touched their chests.

"Welcome," the woman said, drawing attention back to herself. Emma kept her eyes trained on the marble floor beneath her, trying to devise some form of attack. "I trust my guards were gentle."

"Gentle enough, my Lady," Hook replied, though Emma was certain that his arms ached as much as hers did. "If it grants me favor, I have ties to the woman who used to rule this land."

"The Queen of Hearts?" The woman's voice was icy. "You will find no friends of hers here."

"Fantastic!" Hook said, changing tack and grinning widely. "Couldn't stand the woman. I pledge my allegiance to the new monarchy."

Emma tried not to scoff. Every word that came out of Hook's mouth was another justification for leaving him behind on the beanstalk. She couldn't trust him, not when his loyalties were rooted in whoever could help him the most at that particular moment. The woman seemed to think much the same.

"And why would you do that, pirate? You don't know who I am."

At last, Emma looked up. The woman was pale, paler even than Emma, with poker-straight hair so light that it was almost indistinguishable from her complexion. Her sharp features were beautiful but cold and distant. The many layers of her silk dress folded in one another in a swathe of icy blue. Atop her silvery head rested a crown crafted from diamonds, and it was this that made Emma connect the dots.

"The Queen of Diamonds," Emma guessed aloud. Basing a royal family around the suit in a deck of cards was an odd way to go about things, but then this _was_ Wonderland.

The Queen's eyes flitted over to Emma for the first time. She seemed bemused, if not more than a little impressed.

"You have heard of me?"

"Your beauty and wisdom are the talk of our kingdom," Hook answered smoothly, causing another barely restrained eye-roll from Emma. "Though I admit, our tales do not do you justice."

"I haven't heard of you," Emma corrected, upfront in her ignorance for fear the Queen would ask for knowledge about herself that Emma would not be able to provide. "Sorry."

The Queen mulled this over for a moment. Though Emma could feel Hook glaring at her for her honesty, the Queen did not seem at all offended. When she spoke, she picked her words carefully.

"A diamond may believe itself to be glass, while glass will always strive to deceive you." The Queen rose from her throne and drew herself up to her considerable height. "My court is not one of masquerade. The Queen of Hearts sat atop a throne of lies and wherever she is now, you can rest assured that she is not missed. _I_ am respected, adored, for all I ask from my subjects is that they tell me the truth." She smiled at Emma as she spoke the last line but her face hardened as she looked at Hook. "Beautiful lies will get you nowhere in my kingdom."

_That's Hook all out of ammunition, _Emma thought, trying not to find too much satisfaction in the chastisement. She seemed to have earned the Queen's favor and something told Emma that "in her good books" was the safest place to be. That said, the Queen still had not given them leave to rise and Emma was beginning to ache.

"Where is it you hail from?" the Queen asked, taking her seat on the throne again. She was elegant with every movement, her superiority evident even without words.

"Storybrooke," Emma replied before Hook could say anything. She didn't trust him to tell an unembellished truth.

"Storybrooke?" The Queen's lips lifted slightly in amusement. "How quaint."

Emma shrugged, her defenses automatically rising in favor of the place she hadn't realized she loved so much until it had been torn away from her.

"It's home."

The Queen of Diamonds pursed her lips as she surveyed Emma, curious rather than angry at Emma's brusque voice.

"Did I offend you?" she asked, her pale eyebrows drawing together. "It was not my intention, though I should warn you that if you wish to survive in my court you shall have to develop a thicker skin. Model yourself after the diamond: beautiful and unbreakable."

Unbreakable seemed a good way to describe the Queen; she was slight enough to fear strong gusts of wind lest they should knock her over, yet she exuded power. Her body may have been fragile but her mind was sharp enough to give her the strength of ten men. Emma knew it would be wise to be afraid of her, particularly as she seemed to be the sorceress who created the Shells that remained motionless around them.

"Thanks for the tip," Emma said. Then, feeling the need to clarify: "We didn't mean to trespass in your kingdom, we just got lost."

"I know," the Queen assured her. At Emma's surprised look, she smiled. It was not comforting. "I see more than most eyes allow, Emma Swan."

Emma was feeling more uncomfortable by the moment. More than uncomfortable, she felt _threatened_, despite no outward sign of aggression from the Queen. However, the Queen wasn't finished. She raked her eyes over Hook with none of the glazed admiration that Emma supposed he was used to.

"And not forgetting Hook," the Queen said, bordering on disdain. Hook nodded his head in wary acknowledgement, noting her tone. "You were glass once, entirely unremarkable. Then something happened, a fracture, but instead of shattering you transformed under the pressure. A diamond, forced into existence by hardship." Her smile, grudgingly respectful, softened when she turned to Emma. "But you…you are a true diamond in the rough."

For a moment, Emma could only stare at the Queen. Her suspicious metaphor on creating diamonds from glass aside, she spoke of Hook's past with certainty; was she psychic? Panic flashed through Emma's mind at the thought of the Queen revealing all about Little Orphan Emma and her tragic backstory, particularly in front of Hook. On the beanstalk he had merely looked at her and guessed some of her more painful secrets, she didn't want him knowing any more. The Queen smiled, and to Emma's paranoid mind it was a confirmation that her thoughts were laid bare for the monarch to read at her leisure.

"Your Majesty has quite the gift," Hook said, and though his tone was friendly there was a tightness around his mouth that suggested he was just as out of his depth as Emma was. "We have great need to return to our land as soon as possible."

"Your land," the Queen said, pursing her lips. "I see. And what, pray, do you intend to do once you return?"

"I wish to start a new life," Hook replied without hesitation.

The lie did not go unnoticed by Emma, though she would not give any indication of his untruthfulness. As it turned out, she did not need to.

"Guards!" the Queen screamed without warning, her face flushing with fury.

The Shells marched forward as one towards them. A shaken Emma stood to defend herself, no longer concerned with appropriate propriety in front of the Queen. Hook was not far behind her, reaching for his sword before he was fully upright. The Queen of Diamonds let the threat of the Shells linger for a moment before raising a gloved hand. The Shells froze back into their empty state and the Queen turned her cool eyes on Hook.

"That was your first lie, pirate. Do not let there be another."

Hook glared back at her, the sheathing of his sword his only acknowledgement of defeat. When he spoke it was with a noticeable effort to keep his tone in check.

"All due respect, your Majesty, but I am the Captain of my ship. My rank outstrips _pirate_."

"And where is your ship now?" the Queen returned, her cold smile holding more than a hint of mockery. "A Captain without a ship is a man without a title and you, darling boy, have neither."

The air almost crackled with Hook's anger at the Queen's cooing condescension and all Emma could do was pray he wouldn't attempt anything stupid. But the Queen wasn't finished.

"I see the truth of you, _Captain _Hook, who you are behind all of your bravado. Your loss and the emptiness it wrought screams out, just waiting for someone to listen. But, oh…" She glanced at Emma, eyes slightly narrowed in thought, before turning back to Hook with faint amusement. "Three hundred years of piracy and still stung by betrayal. Not as heartless as you pretend, hm?"

The courtyard was silent.

"Hearts were the interest of the previous Queen," Hook managed after a moment. Emma didn't dare look at him for fear of finding truth in the Queen's observations. "My interests lie in finding a way out of Wonderland."

It was a noble attempt at sounding unconcerned but the Queen's cold smile told him he hadn't quite achieved it. When Emma risked a glance at him, Hook had his eyes fixed on the Queen. Though Emma kept her eyes on him, he didn't look at her once. Had the Queen's words cut into him that deeply? Emma had assumed that his anger over her leaving him on the beanstalk was due to some notion of male pride rather than genuine hurt over being left behind.

Meanwhile, the Queen was busy quizzing Hook.

"What brought you to my land?"

"A portal sent us off-course," Hook replied, evidently trying to recover himself from the shock of the Queen's previous remarks.

"From Neverland?"

"The Enchanted Forest."

Every question the Queen asked seemed to be intended as a test, an opportunity for Hook to lie to her again. When every word was truth, she appeared satisfied that the Captain had learned his lesson.

"The portal did indeed misdirect you if you landed as far out as Tearful Bay," the Queen said, shaking her head.

"Tearful Bay?" Emma repeated, unsure if she wanted to know the origin of the name.

"Named for the consequences of a foolish girl's meddling with our magic," the Queen explained, her habitual look of distaste firmly back on her face. "Almost drowned in her own tears."

_She's not the only one_, Emma thought, feeling sick at the knowledge that she had been thrashing about in a river of someone else's tears. And not just anyone's tears, but the original Alice. Who knew how long they had been there, resting stagnant in an untouched cave.

"I will help you," the Queen decided while Emma tried to control her gag reflex. "You will stay the night while I gather resources."

Emma's eyes widened in alarm - she didn't want to stay in Wonderland for another hour, let alone a night - but Hook spoke before she could.

"Your Majesty is very kind. What can we do for you in return?"

It wasn't an acknowledgement of her generous offer; Hook was merely pointing out that "something for nothing" was not a rule that Queens and Captains lived by. The Queen gave a thin smile.

"You can deliver a message for me," she said, though she did not elaborate. "One message, and then you can go back to your loved ones. Or," she added with a spiteful smile at Hook, "whatever mission you allow to rule your life."

"Your Majesty is very kind," Hook repeated, inclining his head in the most half-hearted attempt at a bow ever seen.

"Indeed." The Queen considered Emma for a moment before smiling. Uncovering painful pasts seemed to be the way she amused herself, and Emma had more than enough memories to keep her satisfied. "Emma, dearest, lovely to see you've finally found your family after so many years of solitude."

Emma shrugged. "Being alone didn't bother me."

The lie slipped out before Emma could think. Denial was just instinct after so many years of protecting herself, but she had no time to explain that before the screeching Queen set her Shells on the Savior.

* * *

"Well, this is starting to seem frightfully familiar."

Emma blinked through her grogginess but it took her another few moments to register what was happening. A dull throb in her head persisted as she struggled to her feet, staring around the small dungeon cell. When her eyes met Hook's, she stifled a groan. _How_ did this keep happening? She noticed a nasty cut above his eyebrow and, sure enough when she glanced down, smears of blood stained his hands.

"What did you do this time?" she asked, her fingers keeping a firm pressure on her temple. The other hand explored her head but luckily, aside from the headache, she didn't seem to be injured.

Hook chuckled. "Oh no, love. This was all you." His smug satisfaction permeated the already stale air and Emma found that she would very much like to punch him. "The Queen doesn't like to be lied to, remember?"

"Right," Emma muttered. "Of all the Queens out there, I had to lie to the psychic one."

She should have realized it before, but Hook was not surrounded by bars the way she was. The assumption that they were in side-by-side cells was wrong; he was free and she was not. Had he been imprisoned and then escaped?

"From what I gather, the Queen of Diamonds' power lies in seeing your past rather than reading your thoughts," Hook corrected, watching her closely as she put the pieces of her imprisonment together. "She won't know I came here, or that the prison guard is suffering from a spontaneous case of unconsciousness, until the next time she sees me." It was clear that he was not much interested in explaining things further. He had won this round, they both knew it, and now all that was left was for him to deliver the final blow. Emma waited, gripping the prison bars in her frustration.

"Don't worry, I won't leave you behind," Hook said, much to her surprise. He held up a rusted key and made to open the lock, before making a great show of pausing and drawing the key away again. His smile, a cruel imitation of regret, made Emma feel foolish for even considering that he wouldn't take his opportunity to get back at her. "Unfortunately, I have a tendency towards revenge and you, sweetheart, have given me a great deal to be vengeful about." He pocketed the key and took a step away from the cell. "Let's see, you spent roughly an hour and a half locked in Rumplestiltskin's cell so I'll only have to leave you here for another eight hours and thirty minutes." He winked. "Eight hours twenty, if you're good."

Emma hated him. Her fingers coiled tighter around the bars, imagining his neck in place of the cold metal. When she spoke, it was through gritted teeth. "Hook, we don't have time for this."

"Of course we do," Hook said, waving away her words with an insultingly casual smirk. "We're staying the night, in case you don't recall the Queen's orders. Only, one of us will be sleeping a little more soundly than the other."

Emma shook her head, trying to keep her desperation at bay. She recognized the vicious irony of her position and could only imagine Hook's delight at how this had played out. It may not have been his actions that locked her up, but he had taken full advantage of the situation. Even if he did release her later, there was no telling who he would ally himself with in the meantime.

"The Queen will screw us over, you know she will," Emma said, trying to appeal to a common sense which she wasn't entirely sure was present in the Captain. "We can figure something else out if we work together."

Hook's smug smile twitched. "We make quite the team," he said, echoing his own words from on top of the beanstalk. Bitterness had replaced admiration since then, and he made no attempt to hide it.

"Don't risk everything for some petty sense of revenge," Emma said, but she knew it was too late.

"I do this, and we're even," Hook told her, and for just a moment all traces of satisfaction faded. "We can get on with locating a portal, all scores settled."

Emma was about to inform him how damn stupid that was until she saw the expression in his eyes. There was too much lingering darkness there for it to be considered earnest, yet Emma could tell that he believed what he was saying. He truly considered revenge as an equalizer, as something that would make everything better. Emma would have pitied him if she wasn't currently trapped in a situation that proved how dangerous his method of thinking was.

A moment later, Hook was back to his superior self.

"I told you back by the river that there was only one thing that could help me _get over it_," he said, as though this had been sufficient warning.

"Yeah. This isn't what I thought you meant."

Hook grinned, his eyes dipping considerably south of her own for a moment. "That one track mind of yours is certainly something I look forward to addressing." His eyes met hers again. "Sleep well, sweetheart."

He turned and strode away, not so much as flinching when Emma slapped the cell bars with her open palm and shouted his name, though he did pause when he reached the doorway. He looked back at her, and there was no playful malice or immature gloating anywhere on his features.

"I am not a man to cross," he said simply. His seriousness was tinged with a sadness that Emma did not understand. "Take care you don't do it again."

Then, for the second time that day, Emma had to watch as Hook left her behind.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, nor am I affiliated with Adam Horowitz or Eddy Kitsis. Title of the story is taken from a song by Carina Round. For the hat-trick of things I do not own, see basically everything.**

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**A/N: Hello all, hope you're weathering this hiatus. Your feedback is amazing and very appreciated, I'm writing my dissertation at the moment and it's killing me so thank you for the boost! Not the biggest fan of parts of this chapter (and I'm sorry it's so long, I genuinely don't understand how it happens) but I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Hook was feeling pretty damn pleased with himself as he strode out of the dungeons. His smugness lasted all of a few moments once he realized he had effectively cut himself off from anyone of interest for the next nine hours. The dungeons were the only thing in the palace that wasn't made of marble or diamonds and, despite his typically pirate fondness for shiny things, he would have preferred to spend the night there. Above all, he would have preferred to spend the night there with Emma, but he was getting ahead of himself. She would hate him for the next three or so hours, he knew from experience, and then the next two hours would be spent furiously berating herself for not seeing it coming. One pathetic hour would be wasted wondering what she did wrong to make him turn on her, and the rest of the time would be used devising an escape plan which would ultimately fail until he came to set her free. Maybe he was projecting a little but that was essentially how things would go.

Well, good. Perhaps that would teach her not to double cross a pirate.

He brushed a loose strand of hair from his eyes, wincing in surprise when his fingers grazed over the cut above his eyebrow. One of the Shells had given him a nasty punch but, as the blood on Hook's hands could attest to, he had more than received his comeuppance.

Jumping in to try and protect Emma from the Queen's wrath had not been the smartest of moves, especially considering he already knew that the Shells could not be overpowered by one man, and ultimately it had made no difference. They had carried the unconscious Emma to the cells deep beneath the palace and, from her awkward position on the floor when Hook had arrived, flung her in unceremoniously. He had held himself back from following the Shells to the dungeon, instead forcing himself to wait an appropriate amount of time and then asking the Queen's permission to check on his companion.

"Your guards are certainly obedient but I rather doubt their handling abilities," he had explained.

The Queen had raised an eyebrow but allowed him, sending one of her human guards down with him. Hook wasn't certain if this was cunning or stupidity on the Queen's part, but either way he had knocked the guard into unconsciousness the moment they reached the dungeons. It helped to vent some of the frustration he felt towards the Queen, towards not being able to help Emma, towards his revenge being so damned closed before something happened - again - to delay it.

There had been no hint of satisfaction seeing Emma crumpled on the floor, no satisfaction at all until she had woken up and realized the mess she had landed herself in. That, Hook had to admit, had been quite fulfilling. He replayed her moment of comprehension over in his head as he strode in what he assumed to be the way back to the courtyard.

It did not surprise him when he was apprehended by the Shells less than five seconds later, though it certainly annoyed him. To be dragged around like a disobedient mongrel was almost more than he could accept. The dried blood on his hands went a long way towards remedying the injustice, as did the thought that he could strike at the hollowed out men without remorse. Or rather, even less remorse than usual.

The Shells did not take him back to the courtyard but through the palace. It was a magnificent structure, filled with artwork and antique decorations, though devoid of subjects. The few people who had been milling around the courtyard earlier were apparently not given free rein, Hook noted with interest. The Queen of Heart's court had always been full.

Hook was marched through a series of corridors, some lined with portraits and others completely stark, before coming to a stop outside a grand pair of doors. Two Shells pushed open the door and two others brought him inside.

The Queen sat alone at the head of a long dining table, surrounding by the implements of afternoon tea. She glanced at Hook as he entered and then looked again more closely.

"I would thank you not to attack my guards in the future," she said, raising a teacup to her lips. "You may go," she added to the Shells, whose magic drained out of them at the dismissal.

Hook shook his way out of their grasp as they became limp, trying to ignore the faint feeling of horror that the Queen had such control. Still, dealing with powerful Queens was nothing new for the Captain.

"It must be terrible for morale," Hook agreed, striding further still into the grand room.

Though determined not to show it, he felt uncomfortable in a place of such splendor. Not because he didn't feel good enough to be there (there were very few things in life that Captain Hook did not feel an automatic superiority over) but because the over-exaggerated air of wealth and power suggested that the Queen still felt she had something to prove. He knew from his very early pirating days that no one with a determination to make the world look at them could be trusted; more than a few coats of blood stained his hands from harboring that mentality.

He did not let on his concern and took the seat the Queen indicated.

"You have a beautiful home," he said, because first and foremost he was a gentleman. "I particularly like what you've done with the…pillars."

In truth, the sturdy pillars that ran in parallel lines beside the dining table were an awful mess of diamond-encrusted marble (_…how_? Hook wondered. Or, more importantly, _Why?_) that cheapened the otherwise magnificent space.

"I am the Queen of Diamonds," the Queen said, sounding bored. "My decorating choices are limited. Please," she added, nodding towards the tea set in front of Hook. "Help yourself."

Hook simply looked at her for a moment, wondering if she had called him to her so he could participate in her tea party. Then, seeing no other option, he picked up the empty cup closest to him and examined it.

"Small, pink and dainty," he said, dangling it by its handle. "This will do wonders for my image."

The Queen's lips curled in derision. "An image cultivated through eye makeup and excessive leather. I doubt a teacup would shock anyone at this point."

Hook conceded the point, righted the cup and poured his tea.

"The question is, do I allow the guard his revenge?" the Queen mused, as though they had never strayed from the topic. "After all, justice seems to be a matter of great importance to you."

Hook smiled grimly as he reached for a spoon. "If we offered the chance of revenge to everyone I have attacked then I would be in the unfortunate position of being very dead."

The Queen took another drink. "Then perhaps we have common ground after all, pirate."

Though he spent much time preparing his tea, Hook did not drink it. It wasn't that he didn't trust the Queen - although he certainly didn't - but Wonderland was notorious in its tricky beverages.

"I will allow you to keep the key to the dungeon cell, considering you intend to keep Miss. Swan locked up," the Queen announced.

Hook did not enjoy that the Queen had knowledge of all his past misdeeds; it made plotting against her incredibly difficult. Luckily, he had always been a spur-of-the-moment type of man. She could not predict his movements if he had no idea of them himself.

"Do you care for her?"

The question jolted Hook from his thoughts. He pretended to sip his tea, wondering if would be socially acceptable to throw it out and just drink his rum, before replying:

"She betrayed me."

The Queen's thin smile was just visible behind her teacup. "That isn't what I asked."

"I would be intrigued to hear how you became Queen," Hook said, making no attempt to subtly divert away from the question.

He half-expected the Queen to demand he answer her question, but she merely smiled as though he had told her what she needed to know. The notion unsettled him.

"The Queen of Hearts vacated her throne and I bought, schemed and killed my way to her place," the Queen said, as though recalling the vague history of a thousand years past. "There was nothing in my method that has not been done in every other bid for the throne." Her gaze hardened as she looked around the dining room. "I inherited the title, the lands, and a palace of rooms each more useless than the next. One room is filled with half-eaten scones, another with a thousand hats. The dining tables and chairs often grow tired and wander off, and the libraries contain books filled with riddles that have no answers." An idea, hopeful and bright, broke through her deeply irritated expression. "Do _you_ know why a raven is like a writing desk?"

Hook supposed he had been asked stranger questions, though he could not think of when.

"I'm afraid not."

"Blast." The Queen's face clouded over once more, taking with it the only hint of happiness that Hook had seen from her thus far. "Do you see? Power is nothing without knowledge."

Hook thought of his own strength and skill, both completely useless without the knowledge of how to kill the Crocodile. Well, now he knew and it was only a matter of time before he could apply it. Just one more hurdle to overcome.

(He had been saying this five hurdles ago.)

"Why did you call me here, Your Majesty?" he asked, giving up the pretence of drinking his tea and setting the teacup down.

"Do I bore you?" the Queen asked, fixing him with a stare.

"Not at all," Hook said, finding he was speaking the truth. "I'm just several worlds away from my comfort zone and thought context might ease the transition."

The Queen's smile was mirthless. "You were here for conversation, but now I find that _you_ bore _me_. You may leave."

Hook stood, unsure if this was some bizarre kind of test.

"Perhaps go and taunt the girl you wish was your lover, that's sure to win her affections," the Queen continued, her scorn evident. "I would be careful, though. She's shattered glass wrapped in steel."

Hook had heard enough. He bowed stiffly, maintaining etiquette for someone who did not deserve it.

"In the interest of clarification, why did you pull her down into the portal with you?"

Hook was already walking away and did not look back.

"In the interest of not lying to you, I'd prefer to keep that unanswered."

* * *

Emma stood up the moment she heard the dungeon door open. She fervently hoped it was Hook, mostly because that meant she would have someone to shout at. It hadn't seemed long since Hook had left, meaning she had either lost track of time or gone insane. Each option seemed frighteningly likely.

"Time sure flies when you're stuck in a cage for nine hours with nothing to do," she called out.

"It must do," Hook said, striding into view and not wasting any time in jamming the key in the lock, "considering it's only been three hours at most."

"What?"

"Change of plan, darling."

Emma's lips thinned. She could detect the urgency he was trying to hide.

"What did you do?"

Hook grinned at the complete lack of surprise in her voice. He glanced up, the spark of mischief in his eyes failing to soften the stoniness in her own.

"I don't suppose you would believe me if I told you that I did nothing?"

"Not for a second."

The lock clicked open and, in the interests of saving time, Hook opted for honesty.

"I have a fear that the Queen frowns on people taking an interest in a particularly large diamond that she leaves completely undefen-"

"You stole it, didn't you?" Emma interrupted flatly.

Hook pushed open the cell door and gestured for Emma to leave.

"Can't ask a man to change his nature," he said as she passed, not taking her eyes off him. "A pirate, even less so. I was on my way back from the dining room and it was just sat on an end table. The Queen doesn't know it's missing yet but I would rather not hang about."

He made to leave but stopped, confused, when he realized Emma wasn't following.

"What's the matter?" he asked, quickly scanning her. Unlike his previous, leisurely looks at her body, he seemed to be checking for injuries or something that would prevent her from fleeing with him.

"Can I trust you?" Emma asked, folding her arms across her chest and making it clear that she would not move until he answered.

Hook stared at her for a moment, taken off-guard by the question. Emma knew he was impatient to leave but she was reluctant to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire. There was no point in escaping with someone out to screw her over at every opportunity, so this time she had to make sure. Hook didn't seem to understand her line of reasoning and Emma could tell that in the moments before he answered, he was seriously debating just throwing her over his shoulder and marching out. Instead, he relaxed his expression into an almost lazy smile.

"Unless you intend on acquiring precious jewels anytime in the next few minutes, I don't really think you have cause for concern." He indicated the dungeon door. "May we go?"

"That isn't what I meant," Emma said, standing her ground. "Can I trust that you'll stop trying to get even with me? That this is it, that we're done?"

Hook held her gaze evenly and shifted himself into a stance that matched her own. "An apology wouldn't go amiss."

"How about a truce?"

Hook scoffed, a scornful smile ghosting across his lips. "Like the one we had on the beanstalk?"

"Or maybe like the one we had three hours ago?" Emma shot back. "Don't pretend you're innocent in this." They stood glaring at each other until Emma took a breath. If she would have to sacrifice a little of her pride to get them out of the dungeon then fine. She would sacrifice the bare minimum. "I did it for my son. I couldn't trust that you wouldn't change your mind, so I left you."

It didn't sound like much of an apology, just as Emma didn't intend for it to be. After being dragged into a portal, knocked out and left in a cell she was not feeling very apologetic about anything.

"I wouldn't have left you."

To her great surprise, something like shame crept into Emma's chest. This would be the long-delayed guilt setting in, she guessed, brought on by the kind of hurt that belonged to a child and not a pirate Captain. She looked away for the briefest of seconds.

"I know." When she looked back, they had both armored their vulnerability. "We can't just go running out there unarmed. You got a plan?"

"I have a hundred," Hook answered, cementing their truce. "Each more unlikely than the next. One involves a dragon."

Emma scowled. "Having _fought_ a dragon, I'm going to veto that. Just because we're in Wonderland doesn't mean you have to lose your head."

"Funny," Hook said, straight-faced. "You had better hope that decapitation isn't in our future; apparently there's a room in the palace brimming with hats and it would be a shame to waste them."

Emma stared at him, ignoring his sarcasm. "A room of hats?" she repeated. Something was struggling to form in her mind and the only way she could reach it was to voice her thoughts as they came. "The Mad Hatter. He thought the hat was a portal. He said I had to _get it to work_, that I was the only one who could. Obviously nothing happened…" Realization dawned and Emma turned, wide-eyed, to Hook. "Because there wasn't any magic in Storybrooke then. But there's magic everywhere here, so if we find that room-"

"We have a way out," Hook finished, understanding her excitement. All their previous animosity was forgotten, if not quite forgiven, in the way he smiled at her. "Smart lass."

Though they should not mean more to her than the compliments of anyone else, Hook's little endearments always gave her a confidence boost, before she inevitably reminded herself that they didn't mean anything. He was a pirate, and more than that he was a charmer. Still, her lips lifted ever so slightly in response.

"We get to that room, we're _this_ much closer to freedom."

"Freedom," he mused as they began their quick walk from the dungeon. "My second favourite F-word."

* * *

The Queen must not yet have noticed the missing diamond, as Emma and Hook made their way into the upper levels of the palace uninterrupted. Working on a hunch made everything more tense than usual, adding to the stress of not knowing where to even begin looking.

"So you've met the Mad Hatter before?" Hook asked, opening a door at random. He glanced inside, shook his head and closed the door again.

"Yeah," Emma replied, following his lead and twisting the doorknob to what turned out to be a locked door. "He kidnapped me and forced me into making a hat."

Hook paused in his efforts.

"He had you completely at his mercy and he chose to give you a lesson on creating clothing accessories? That clears up the mystery of why they call him Mad."

Emma ignored him. She could feel defeat beginning to wear at her eagerness. "We can't just open every door in the palace," she said, abandoning the doorknob she was about to reach for. "What if we find the Queen by accident?"

"Oh, you shan't find her here."

Emma jumped at the unfamiliar voice and looked around, preparing to punch her way out of whatever trouble they found themselves in. The hallway was empty save herself and Hook. Confused, Emma turned to Hook who was still - somehow - in possession of his sword. The voice spoke out again, impatient this time.

"Up here, on the wall."

Unsure if this was the wisest course of action, Emma looked up. In between a window and a painting of a goose in a collar that would have made Shakespeare envious was a wooden plaque, upon which was mounted a white fluffy mass that Emma would have assumed was a toy upon first glance. She squinted up in time to see the fluffy mass's head move.

"I wasn't going to speak out," it said in its rich, prim voice, "but it seems you are enemies of the Queen."

"Only if you are," Hook said, taking the strange turn of events in his stride as he was prone to do. He examined the fluffy mass for a moment. "The White Rabbit, I take it?"

Emma craned her neck for a closer look, confused and more than a little uneasy. The White Rabbit was supposed to be a noble creature, a member of court, not like other common animals caught and mounted.

"The Queen had me stuffed," said the White Rabbit mournfully. "Everything except my head. Bewitched me to live, stripped me of my beautiful clothes and - oh! I can hardly bear the shame of appearing in such a state of undress in front of visitors!"

"You're not the worst thing I've ever seen naked," Emma assured him, much to Hook's amusement. She glanced at him, prepared to scold him for his laughter, but the thought occurred that there hadn't been much to find funny recently. She let him have his moment.

"And my pocket watch…" the White Rabbit continued, his eyes shining as they fixed on a far-off point. "All my lovely possessions, gone."

"Commiserations, mate," Hook said, allowing genuine sympathy for a moment before getting back to business. "There's a room full of hats somewhere around here. It'd really upset the Queen if you told us where it was."

The White Rabbit seemed to relish the idea. "Would it derail her plans?"

"Like a damn train wreck," Emma promised, slowly becoming accustomed to the White Rabbit's unnerving nature.

"Then it would be my honor," the White Rabbit said, full of the pomposity of his storybook counterpart. "Continue to the bottom of this corridor and turn left at the top. On your right there will be a staircase. Go up four levels, down six, up two more and finally down one and a half-"

Emma interrupted him before he could go any further and made him repeat the instructions, counting off the floors on her fingers.

"So the room is…a floor and a half below us?" she said, making sure she had done the math correctly.

The White Rabbit frowned. "No, young lady, that isn't what I said at all. Haven't you been listening?" He sighed gustily, although since his chest did not move it was really nothing more than noise. "The room you seek is up four levels, down six, up two more and then down one and a half. The directions must be followed exactly, otherwise you will not reach your destination."

"But that doesn't…" _Make sense_, she had been about to say before realizing it was pointless. Of course it didn't make sense, it was Wonderland. In any other world they would be able to simply climb down one flight of stairs and be done with it. Here they had to do a damn song and dance before they got anything done.

(Emma was briefly grateful that this was not the musical version of Wonderland. The horrors would be tenfold.)

"Alright," she said, swapping an irritated glance with Hook. At least he seemed as annoyed as she did. "Anything else?"

"You will know the door to the Hatter's room when you see it," the White Rabbit said. "It is the only one on that floor. I will distract the Queen if I can, though I cannot promise anything in regards to those ghastly guards of hers."

Emma nodded in gratitude and began to move. "Thank you."

"Oh," the White Rabbit called after them. Emma paused and turned around, trying not to seem impatient after all he had done for them. "If you see Alice, do remind her that the date is not one to be missed." He shook his head. "She is dreadfully late, of course, frightfully so, would _never_ have happened under the rule of the Queen of Hearts."

"Right," Emma said, unsure of how to let the creature down gently. "Alice, really late. Got it."

"My gratitude," the White Rabbit said, twitching his ears as he settled back into his immobile state. "Perhaps the March Hare will visit me later. We're very distantly related, you know."

"Come on, lass," Hook murmured, taking Emma by the crook of her arm and pulling her gently along as the White Rabbit continued chattering. "Don't much care to hear the lineage of a rabbit."

Emma pulled her arm away from Hook, setting a brisk pace for him to match. Though the White Rabbit's voice faded, she was left pitying the creature for his fate. She didn't want to think what the Queen of Diamonds would do to them if their theory didn't pan out and they were caught.

"Is Wonderland just made of steps?" she huffed a few minutes later as they started the six floor descent.

"Steps and nonsense," Hook confirmed. "And a lot of tea, for some reason."

Emma tried not to think of how much she wanted a hot chocolate right now. She kept her eyes on the red carpet in the center of the marble steps, keeping herself preoccupied with wondering if the palace had looked any different under the reign of the Queen of Hearts. A lot more headless people, she assumed.

"Think we can trust the White Rabbit?" she asked a few minutes later as they climbed down their final flight.

"Don't see why not," Hook replied, his attention mainly focused on dropping one foot in front of the other. "I would offer all the help I could if it was detrimental to the woman who had stripped me and hung me on the wall. Never did get my own back for that one."

Emma decided not to ask. She was hungry and exhausted and hanging her last hope on the slim chance that she could turn a hat into a portal that would somehow direct them home.

Life-sized portraits and paintings lined the stairwell as they climbed down. Emma kept a wary eye on them, half-expecting something to leap out at her but they appeared completely stationary.

"This should be it," Hook said, stopping suddenly and looking at either side. "Do you see anything, or am I going have to go back and skin a rabbit?"

Emma feared it would be the latter. She was about to suggest that they re-trace their steps in case they had miscounted when she heard Hook's breath catch.

"Do you hear that?"

Several flights below them, a steady march had sprung up. Fear clutched at Emma's stomach.

"We need to run," Hook said, but Emma shook her head.

"No. The White Rabbit said the door would be here."

"_Now_ you choose to trust someone? Emma, there's nothing here but paintings." A strange light entered his eyes. He gripped the frame of the painting that was level with their step, grinning in triumph as his fingers found a groove. The pounding of the Shells' boots was growing closer. He prised the groove apart from the wall, using his hook for added strength, until the painting shifted sideways. Although he continued to tug, the frame would not move further. He grunted with effort but still it would not budge.

"Push it," Emma whispered, glancing frantically at the steps below her, certain that at any moment they would be caught.

Hook obliged and the painting opened inwards as easily if it had been a normal door. Emma did not need the encouragement to move but Hook grabbed her wrist as he stepped up into the space the painting had swung into, taking her with him as they all but fell through the door. Emma closed it barely a moment before the Shells reached their level and used her weight against the flimsy piece of wood to secure it shut. Hook's hook rested barely an inch from her cheek, its sharp edge visible even in the dim light. She kept it in her sights, choosing to take it as Hook's attempt to help keep the door closed rather than viewing it as a threat.

Footsteps thundered up the steps on the other side of the door. Emma tried not to breathe, certain that her fear would manifest in huge gasps and give them away. The breath that came regardless misted the hook, obscuring her wide-eyed reflection. The outside rumble continued as a seemingly never ending pursuit of Shells tried to find them. She turned back to Hook, about to indicate that they should move further into the room, but the words died on her lips when she realized how close they were. He had all but covered her, with barely a whisper of air between their chests. There was no need for them to be that close, no reason, but while Emma could have pushed him away, she did not move.

Hook's fingers were still wrapped around her wrist. In a moment of madness, Emma thought how strange it was that despite their closeness, this was their only skin-to-skin contact. She kept her eyes fixed on his, even as he dipped his gaze down to her lips. A lingering moment was spent there before he lifted his eyes back up to hers. The movement, accompanied by a gentle stroke of his thumb across her hand, sent a pulse through her. She prayed he hadn't noticed, but the smirk on his lips - so close to hers - suggested otherwise.

She pressed herself back into the door, using the discomfort as a method of anchoring herself to something resembling reality. Her world was overwhelmed by the scent of leather and rum and the sea, an intoxicating mix that would poison her if she would only let it.

"I think the guards have gone," she managed, barely moving her lips as she created a verbal divide between them.

Hook drew in a breath, preparing to say something that died before it reached his lips. Instead, he allowed one last glance at her lips, lifted the corners of his own and then stepped away with only a murmured, "Pity".

With room to breathe, Emma collected herself. Adrenaline pumped through her (_just _adrenaline, she told herself) and she needed to expel the nervous energy. Hook was already walking away, though Emma didn't miss the slight tremble of his hand.

The room, gloomy behind closed high curtained windows, was stacked high with hats of every shape, size and color. The further she moved into the room, the more Emma struggled believing that Jefferson had created so many failed portals. It didn't give her much hope that she could change anything. Being positive was key. Being positive, and possessing a very strong determination not to die in Wonderland.

Emma picked up the hat closest to her and shook it uncertainly. A thick layer of dust flew off. Undeterred, Emma shook it again, willing a portal to appear. It seemed so long ago since she and Mary Margaret had fallen through Jefferson's hat and in a moment that had been filled with panic and fright, she couldn't remember how the portal had been opened. The pressure was not lifted by the knowledge that unless she could figure out how to open the portal, she and Hook would be in the same mode of terror.

"Put a bit of effort into it, love," Hook suggested when nothing happened, picking up a hat of his own and dusting it off. Emma couldn't tell if his coolness was a front to hide the fear that they would soon be found. "Can't tell if you're making a portal or deciding what goes best with your jacket."

That did it. Emma, frustrated and afraid, threw the hat at him. It sailed through the air like a discus, missing Hook as he quickly stepped aside and landing in amongst a pile of other hats.

"Great," Emma muttered as she heard the soft thump. "You lost my hat."

"Damn. If only we had a replacement."

Before Emma could snap back at him, a further thump was heard. Then another. At first Emma thought that she had accidentally knocked over a pile of hats. She was about to bemoan her fate of being crushed to death in an avalanche of fabric when Hook ran to her side.

"You've done it," he said. There was no disbelief in his tone as there was in her thoughts; almost as though he had known all along that she could do it. "You created a portal."

Emma stared at him, then over to the source of the noise. Hats were beginning to fall from their towers, shaken by the impact of the portal beginning to gain power.

"How?" she asked, doubting herself.

"Does it matter? We have a portal."

They followed the thumps, still dodging hats, until they reached the rapidly spinning top hat. Smoky tendrils surrounded it, spilling down onto the stone floor until the hat widened out to meet them with a loud whirring noise.

"Give me your hand," Hook called over the din, already reaching for her.

Emma had no particular desire to be close to him after their earlier proximity but logic intervened. She didn't want to lose him in whatever magic fuelled the hat. She took his hand, taking a moment in the madness to notice how warm and calloused it was.

"Confidence level in the plan isn't great right now," she shouted as the edge of the portal neared.

"You're just stalling so you can hold my hand," Hook said, tightening his fingers around hers.

"Really not," Emma muttered to herself, taking a deep breath.

They had no idea where the hat would lead. No idea if it would be home or somewhere worse than this.

"Sometimes you don't get to look before you leap," Hook said, noting her reluctance. He leaned in to her, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke. "Sometimes you just have to trust you'll end up where you need to."

Emma gave him a look that threatened pain if he got any closer. He just smiled. Half-exasperated, Emma filled her head with thoughts of Storybrooke and Henry before jumping forwards, plunging them both down into the hat.


	4. Chapter Four

******Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, nor am I affiliated with Adam Horowitz or Eddy Kitsis. Title of the story is taken from a song by Carina Round. For the hat-trick of things I do not own, see basically everything.**

* * *

**A/N: Full author's note at the end of the chapter, please read it if you have any questions (I mean about the fic but if you have questions about life in general then that's cool too). I keep promising shorter chapters and they keep getting longer. It's a mystery for the ages. ****Thank you so much for your reviews/favourites/feedback! (:**

* * *

It wasn't Storybrooke.

As far as Emma could tell, it wasn't really anywhere. The hat had dropped them into a circular room containing doors and nothing else. Each door had a distinct personality but, of course, no signpost. Emma could take a guess at a couple of them (a door of yellow brick seemed to indicate Oz) but for the most part she was clueless.

She got to her feet, thanking the hat's magic that she had somehow had a soft landing on the stone floor, and walked unsteadily around the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hook do the same.

"We should choose a door sooner rather than later," he said, appraising the options. "I doubt the Queen will be able to follow us but I'd rather not take the chance."

Emma nodded in agreement. The question was, which door? Even the most mundane door - a heavy affair made of mahogany - seemed unlikely to belong to the real world.

"Sooner being sometime in the next few seconds," Hook prompted, earning a dirty look from Emma.

"You're the one used to traveling through worlds, why don't you suggest one?"

Hook grinned at her irritation. "I'd rather you decide, so that if we end up somewhere dangerous or undesirable you can't accuse me of tricking you."

"I wouldn't-" she stopped herself at Hook's raised eyebrow. In truth, she probably would have done. Damn him for somehow knowing her so well. "Fine."

She took one last look at the doors before heading for the mundane one she had noticed earlier. It was ornately carved, a little vintage perhaps (to the tune of three or four hundred years) but still seemed to be man-made.

"This one."

Hook examined it with a nod. "Alright." Emma reached out for the handle but was stopped by fingers around her wrist. "The same amount of people that arrive by the hat must leave by it," he said, all traces of earlier humor wiped from his face. _So don't get any ideas about leaving me behind_, was the unspoken end of the sentence.

"Who's got trust issues now?" Emma asked, raising an eyebrow in the same infuriating manner she had seen him do many times.

"I'm merely nudging you to this side of common sense," Hook replied smoothly. He released Emma's wrist, opened the door himself and then gestured inside. "After you."

Without taking a few moments to consider what she was about to do, Emma walked straight into the blackness. She had expected a pulling or falling sensation like the other portals had inflicted on her, but in two steps and the time it took to take a breath she was in the other land.

Her heart sank after a quick glance around. Emma was getting really tired of places that weren't Storybrooke. There was nothing to light the cobbled streets but the moon overhead that was an unusual shade of…wait.

Had she developed a sudden and extreme case of colorblindness, or was everything genuinely in black and white? She glanced down at herself but no, she was still available in Technicolor. Hook too, when he came to stand next to her. When she was younger, Emma had always thought that The Past had been in black and white, because all the old movies were. She had laughed at that assumption as she grew up, but now she was finding a worrying amount of merit in it.

"Any ideas, love?" Hook asked, taking in the scene in front of them.

"None," Emma admitted.

They were in a town square that contained a stone well, a few buildings and a forest in the distance. That was the extent of Emma's knowledge. As far as she could tell, they had appeared out of thin air. A terrified man, frozen and staring at them in horror, certainly seemed to think so.

"How did you-?" he started, before Hook strode over and caught him by the scruff of his neck.

"Evening, mate," the Captain greeted, casual as always despite the circumstances.

The man looked fearfully between the two strangers, one dressed like a scoundrel and the other in no clothes he had yet seen.

"You're…not in black and white," he said, struggling to speak.

Hook's smile was more of a sneer. "And you speak perfect English. Let's chalk it down to narrative convenience and move on, shall we?"

"Hook, let the poor guy go," Emma called, frowning her distaste.

"Just a second, sweetheart." He turned his attention back to the man. "What land is this?"

"T-Transylvania," the man said, his eyes wide.

"What year?" Emma asked, a pit of dread deepening in her stomach.

"1897. Please," he added to Hook, beads of sweat forming around his temples. "Please, I have a family…"

"I don't know this realm," Hook said to Emma, oblivious to the man's suffering.

"I do. Let's see, Transylvania…in the 1800s…" Emma closed her eyes briefly. "Oh, damn it." She turned to the man and asked in a flat voice, "There any creepy castles around here? Villagers going missing, involuntary blood donations at an all time high?"

The man understood every other word, that much was obvious. Emma didn't have the inclination to translate her slang into something more relatable and so just shook her head. Seeing her defeat, Hook released the man who scrambled off into a nearby building.

"Bad news?"

"Ever heard of Count Dracula?" Emma asked in response, wondering how exactly her life had led up to this point.

Hook frowned. "A story, here and there. Tales designed to scare the little ones." At Emma's deadpan expression, he scoffed. "You're not serious. Vampires? There's no such thing."

"Says Captain Hook."

He flashed her a smile.

"I do like it when you call me Captain."

Emma ignored him, choosing instead to scan the buildings that formed the square. Most were dark but one was lit and figures moved in the windows. Their outlines held glasses and Emma knew she had found what she was looking for.

"A bar," she said, nodding towards it. "We need to rest. Let's hope they're kind."

Hook's steady exhalation suggested what he thought of this hope, but nevertheless he led the way across the cobbles and opened the door for his companion.

A rush of warmth and noise met them as they stepped inside, attracting stares and whispers that followed them all the way to the bar. Hook, already completely at home, leaned forward onto the bar to address the man stood behind it.

"We require drink, a meal and a bed for the night."

"Two beds for the night," Emma corrected. "In two separate rooms. Two separate taverns, ideally, but I'll take what I've got."

The barkeep didn't seem to hear her. His face was stony as he set aside the mug.

"We don't allow your kind in here."

A hush fell over the tavern. Everyone had been eavesdropping on the strangers and now the confrontation that they had been so hoping for seemed about to occur. For her part, Emma had no idea what the man meant. Were they hated because they were in color while everyone else was black and white?

"They take issue with the way you dress," Hook explained, the tightening of his jaw suggesting just what he thought of this hostility. "I believe I take issue with them."

A confused Emma looked down at her clothes, wondering if something had accidentally ripped or fallen off. True, she was not styled in the Ye Olde Fashion Sense like the rest of the patrons but she was hardly indecent.

"The way I dress?" she repeated, glancing from Hook to the barman who were engaged in a glaring match.

A small group approached the bar. The one closest, a slip of a girl no older than nineteen, pursed her lips in distaste. The others around her mimicked her haughty expression and stance.

"A woman in a man's attire," the girl sniffed. "Being in polite company, I won't speak the word that is on everyone's mind."

Emma stood up straighter and walked over to the girl. "Say it," she dared, anger overriding any embarrassment she may have felt at being judged in front of so many.

The girl's face blanched at the obvious antagonism. A man, her husband, stepped in front of the new threat and looked her up and down, his lip curling in distaste.

"Whore," he said, straight in Emma's face.

The man was sprawled on the floor before Emma had even clenched her fist. Hook stood in front of her, towering over the man on the floor.

"That was my right hook. I don't think you want to take your chances with the left."

He held the threat aloft, allowing the man to cower before it. The group that accompanied him backed away. Their air of superiority would not protect them and they had no loyalty that overrode the fear of pain.

"Apologize."

The man hesitated for the briefest of moments. "I meant no harm, Miss," he said to Emma, managing to sound half way sincere even though there was no chance that he actually meant it.

"Valentin!" his wife berated from a safe distance away.

"Good boy," Hook said, his condescension driving the point home. He turned back to the bar. "Now, where were we?"

"There's a tavern more suited to _your_ needs on the other side of the town," the barman said, waving a small blade that Hook looked at with scathing amusement.

"You'll have to do better than that, mate," he said, and brandished his own sword.

Emma rolled her eyes as the patrons gasped.

"We're not here to get in a bar fight," she reminded Hook, resting her hand on his arm and ignoring the fact that a punch had already been thrown. "You want to spend the rest of the night watching your back, or do you want to go the place that's pirate-friendly?"

"It isn't me they have a problem with, love," Hook said, but he sheathed his sword just the same. His expression hardened as he looked at the bartender and his knife. "Put that away, you're embarrassing yourself."

Everyone gave them a wide berth as they strode out of the tavern. Emma couldn't help but feel powerful and wondered if this was what Hook's reputation afforded him in the Enchanted Forest and Neverland.

"I have a rule," Hook announced the moment they were outside. Emma didn't particularly care but he continued anyway. "Whoever gets me thrown out of a tavern has to buy me a drink in the next place."

Emma drew her jacket tighter around herself. "What's your rule for when _you_ get someone thrown out?"

"The other person still has to buy me a drink." At Emma's sidelong glance, he grinned. "The best thing about being a Captain is making all the rules."

"Yeah but I'll bet the health plan is lousy." At Hook's raised eyebrow, Emma shook her head. "Never mind. And anyway, I can't buy you a drink if I don't have money. I don't even know what the currency is here."

Hook drew a small pouch from the inside of his jacket. "Let's take a look, shall we?" With amazing dexterity for a man with only one hand, he eased the pouch open and plucked out a coin. "Gold. How original."

"Where did you get that?" Emma asked, surprised despite herself.

"Let's call it compensation for the slight," Hook answered, flipping the coin in her direction and grinning when she caught it without hesitation. "Generously and unwittingly donated by our friend the barkeep."

Emma was impressed that even her sharp eyes hadn't been swift enough for Hook's hand.

"Just the one piece?" she found herself teasing. "Come on, I was more offended than that."

Hook eyed her curiously, unused to her light chat.

"Careful, lass," he said with a rueful smile. "Beautiful woman walking alone into the night with a man giving her money? The townspeople will get ideas again."

Emma shook her head, but something stuck at her. Beautiful. He had called her beautiful, and there hadn't been a hint of irony or condescension like with some of his other terms of endearment. Though she certainly wasn't about to swoon, the word did not roll off her back as she would have wished.

"Besides," Hook said, trying to coax her out of her silence. "I was expecting you to scold me for thieving."

His tone suggested anticipation rather than contrition. Emma shrugged.

"That would just make me a hypocrite."

Hook looked at her in approval. "Always known there was more to you than meets the eye."

"Right, because I'm the only one with hidden depths. You want to tell me exactly how a pirate Captain got so chivalrous?"

Hook grinned but didn't answer, and so their cold night's trek to the other bar continued in silence until Emma's scornful smile faded.

"You didn't have to do that," she said, looking at the path ahead rather than at him. "Back at the bar."

"Yes, I did."

His quiet resolve pricked at Emma.

"I can take care of myself," she insisted. Brave and independent had been her only labels for a long time, and she hated to think that wasn't living up to them.

Hook chuckled. "Believe me, lass, I know, but he was insulting both of us. Insinuating that I have to pay for company…really, given my considerable charm how many times do you think I have had to resort to that?"

Emma accepted the return to light-heartedness for what it was.

"Depends," she said. "Am I judging on your face or your big mouth? Both have different answers."

"You wound me."

The banter continued as they walked but Emma's thoughts were elsewhere. Eventually, each as exhausted as the other, they lapsed into silence and Emma was left with her musings. It felt…different to be defended. Almost pleasant that someone should protect her not because she needed it but because she deserved it. Although she would fight for Henry, Mary Margaret and David if they were ever in danger, it never really occurred that someone would want to do that for her.

* * *

The second tavern was, to put it delicately, rough as hell. Emma had thought that it would take a long time to find, but she could hear the din it emitted from two streets away and smell the alcohol and sweat from one.

"Seems more like it, doesn't it, love?" Hook grinned, eager to be in familiar surroundings.

Though people still stared, no one bothered them. Emma found a small, unobtrusive table in the corner under a lit lantern and took a seat. A candle flickered in the middle of the table and she poured melted wax into the palm of her hand while Hook bought them drinks.

"Here we go," he said, setting a drink down in front of her. He paused, having second thoughts, and picked up her glass. He took a quick swig of the liquid inside - whiskey, maybe, although in this world it was an undistinguishable gray - before placing it back down. "Not poison," he assured her.

Emma wondered if he would do this with every drink he offered her. It was getting tired. She clinked her glass with his tankard (_ambitious of him_, she thought) and took a welcome drink.

"Beds are sorted for the night," Hook said as he sat down opposite her. "Separate, despite my best intentions."

"Good. So I guess this is your kind of place?" Emma asked above the cheering of someone losing some gamble or another.

"Aye," Hook answered, looking almost wistfully around. "Back in the Enchanted Forest, I could have had a crew put together by the end of the night."

Emma smirked. "Right, and how many scams would you have to pull to get the numbers?"

Hook shot her a scornful look. "Men fight to the death for the chance to sail under the Jolly Roger's colors. At least, they did." He finished his drink and slammed the cup back onto the table. It was refilled within seconds by a passing barman who barely paused in pouring. "Cheers, love."

"Reputation not what it used to be?" Emma asked, sipping her own drink and wondering how the hell he had drank so quickly.

"Reputation's just fine," Hook corrected with a defensive edge. "You'd heard of me, as had your mum. What I meant was that there was no need to find new shipmates. Crew of the Jolly Roger's not changed in three hundred years."

Emma was preparing another jibe until the light shifted and she could read his expression.

"You miss them," she said softly.

"I spent three centuries stuck with the same faces every day." His scornful laugh didn't quite ring true and, after another drink, he nodded. "Aye," he said, quietly. "I miss them."

The unexpected admission, and his expression in the soft illumination of the firelight, made him seem more human. He had shed the heavy weight that came with being Captain Hook; here he was simply Killian Jones, the man who had loved and lost. Emma wanted to find out more about this man.

"Where are they now?" she asked, leaning closer over the table to hear his answer.

"Some opted to stay in Neverland, some travelled elsewhere. Don't suppose our paths will cross again." His eyes fixed on a point above Emma's shoulder. "They gave their blessing to my quest, every one of them. Milah was good to them, and they wanted to see her avenged."

His hand stilled around the tankard for a moment before he knocked the drink back. There was a distant sadness in his eyes and a grim set to his jaw. Emma wanted to say something to bring back the man she was familiar with, the man she knew how to deal with, because the stripped back man in front of her was too vulnerable for her to know how to act around. She knew from experience that any attempt at an apology would ring hollow and stiff, formal condolences were not her style.

"Go on then, lass," Hook said, breaking the silence for her. "What's your tale of love and loss?"

Emma shrugged. She would not discuss this. Not now, not with him. "I loved, I lost."

She was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to delve into her past right now, but Hook would not be deterred.

"You mentioned a son."

Emma nodded. "Yeah. Henry."

This was a marginally safer topic, and as long as she didn't divulge too much it was something she was happy to talk about.

"Henry," Hook repeated thoughtfully. "Good name. Strong."

"Stubborn," Emma corrected with a small smile that she could not help. "Most precocious kid you've ever met. Smart as hell and fearless."

"Like his mum."

Emma shook her head. "Better than me."

The ache for his absence deepened. She missed his smile, his hugs, his infuriating questions and the way he would eat anything put down in front of him. She missed _him_, and it was bitterly unfair that her plans to get back to him were continually thwarted.

"You'll see him again," Hook assured her, covering her hand with his.

Emma allowed the warmth of his hand and his sincerity for a moment before drawing away. She felt dangerously close to tears, more through her tiredness than anything, and that was a sure sign that the night was over. She gave Hook a shaky smile and stood up.

"I'm going to bed," she said with barely a glance at her unfinished dram.

"Shall I join you?" Hook asked, sounding much more like his pirate self.

"Try it and you lose the other hand."

She walked away, leaving Hook grinning to himself.

* * *

Emma slept a dreamless sleep, which she was beyond grateful for. She did not need the nightmares of being chased by Shells or a mad Queen or Hook slowly drawing closer to her as he held her against a door…although Emma was still undecided if that would be a nightmare. It was something she should not be thinking of, and she would leave it at that.

She lay huddled in blankets for a few minutes after waking, trying to collect her thoughts. She was stuck in the same town as Dracula, which was an obvious cause for concern. Hook didn't seem about to attack or betray her, though that could just be down to lack of opportunity. There was obviously magic present in this land, but she had no idea how to harness it. All in all, things weren't great.

_But_, Emma thought, determined to find positives, _that was a pretty good night's sleep._

She sat up and stretched, wondering where she could get some breakfast. She imagined it would not be in with the price of the room and hoped they had enough money left from the pouch that Hook had stolen.

Determined to find new clothes soon, Emma threw on her jacket and headed for the door. She opened it and nearly walked straight into Hook. A hand was drawn to an inappropriate place - or two - as he tried to steady her.

"How long have you been standing there?" Emma asked, once she had gathered her wits.

Hook raised an eyebrow. "While your self-confidence is endearing, I have better things to do than standing wistfully outside your bedroom door until you wake up. I was just about to knock. We have a long day ahead of us."

Emma decided that it was best for her sanity if she accepted his words without question. "Right."

"You had a longer lie in than I did, which is remarkable considering the evening I had."

He didn't seem about to move, leading Emma to believe that she would have to ask about his apparent adventure. She sighed and, despite already knowing that she probably wouldn't like the answer, asked, "What happened last night?"

Hook leant against the doorframe and examined his namesake.

"Some of the details are a little unclear," he admitted, "but I think I may have traded your jacket for a horse, lost the horse in a game of cards and then won your jacket back in a drinking contest. Gardening tools may also have made an appearance at some point."

Emma stared at him. "You bet my jacket in a card game?"

"No, I _traded_ your jacket. No card games involved where you were concerned."

Emma couldn't help but feel he was missing the point.

"You didn't even have my jacket with you," she said, completely bemused. "And who would trade a _horse_ for that?"

Hook shrugged. "Fashion-conscious farmers?"

Emma had to stop herself from smiling, both at his quip and at the absurdity of the situation. It was too early in the day for this.

"The plan was to take the horse, wake you up and then run," Hook explained. "Or, ride, as the case may have been. You'd be surprised at how logical that plan seemed after a few rounds."

Emma shook her head. "I'm never leaving you alone with alcohol again."

"Good," Hook said, glancing at her with a smile. "It wasn't the same after you left."

The cynical look she shot him softened into wry amusement as he maintained eye contact.

"We should get some breakfast," she said. "Assuming you didn't gamble away the money."

"Not all of it." He finally straightened up and moved aside to let her pass.

* * *

Breakfast was an unusual affair comprised of cold meat, fruit and something that could optimistically be called porridge. Still, everything was perfectly edible and so Hook and Emma ate in silence, too fixed on filling their stomachs to attempt conversation. For such a disreputable place they were good on the hospitality front. Considering they had traveled so light - as in, brought nothing whatsoever with them - they had no need to go back to the rooms and so left as soon as they had finished their food. The owner waved them off like old friends, though Hook soon admitted that this was because he had given him the rest of the stolen money.

"We'll just steal some more," he said to Emma as they walked out into the sunshine, trying to alleviate any worry she might have felt at being penniless.

"You're supposed to steal because you have to, not because it's fun to throw money away," Emma admonished, although the stolen candy bars all those years ago weren't strictly necessary.

"Have you forgotten who you're talking -"

Hook cut off at the appearance of a young girl in their path. She had none of the fear or distrust in her face that the other townspeople had reserved for the newcomers, perhaps because she was in as vibrant color as Hook and Emma.

"Mother Elena wishes to see you," the girl said without preamble.

Emma, taken aback, wasn't sure how to respond for a moment. She noticed how passers-by stared at the child and muttered behind their hands. The faded colors of her clothes - extravagant when the rest of the world was in black and white - earned her no favor. The girl took it with good grace and waited patiently for Hook and Emma to follow her.

"Who's Mother Elena?" Emma asked, focusing back on the child.

"A very wise old woman who wishes to help you," the girl answered. "We live on the edge of the forest. Will you come?"

"That depends," Hook said, fixing a condescending smile in place. "Is it a trap?"

"Mother Elena said you'd come," the girl said, not in the least offended. "She sent me out to show you the way. Follow me."

Emma considered the options, just as she knew Hook was doing. They could ignore the girl and wander around until they hit upon something that could help them (or, God forbid, Dracula himself) or they could walk into what was quite possibly a trap, be forced to fight their way out while try to get some answers as they did so.

When Hook looked at Emma, she knew his answer. It was the same as hers. Wordlessly, they followed the child.

* * *

It was not a long walk to the forest, though nature was decidedly less impressive when it was one dull haze. Emma walked on full alert, ready to dodge or throw a punch at any given moment, while Hook kept a close hand on his sword.

"We're here," the girl announced, reaching the first line of trees in the forest. Talismans dangled from the branches, all different shapes and sizes. "For protection," she explained, seeing Emma's curious glance.

They stepped past the trees and, as though a switch was flipped, the world was washed in bright colors. Wagons painted gold and red bordered a clearing. Horses grazed and a dog zipped around, offering a stick for anybody to throw. The remains of a campfire smoked in the centre, and men, women and children were dotted around completing various jobs. Although there were a few interested glances, no one gave Hook and Emma much consideration.

"Mother Elena told them you were coming," the girl said, unnecessarily at this point. "This way."

Though Emma was still wary, nothing more dangerous than an overenthusiastic dog threatened her passage to the largest wagon. At the girl's urging, she climbed the three steps up into the interior. A woman was waiting for them in the small, brightly decorated space. She seemed as ancient as the trees and almost as wrinkled.

"Carolina?" Mother Elena asked, turning her head quickly as Hook and Emma entered.

"Uh, no," Emma said, swapping a blank glance with Hook. "Someone said you wanted to see us? A little girl. Was she Carolina?"

"Yes," Mother Elena murmured in accented English, running bony fingers over the many rings on her hands. "Yes, it must have been. Such a naughty child, always running off…"

As the old woman fretted, Emma glanced around the wagon's interior. Rich material draped the walls and threads of coins and beads hung from the ceiling. A small table, covered by a thick fabric, sat in the centre of the wagon with three small wooden stools surrounding it. Mother Elena occupied one and so Emma moved slowly to one of the others.

"Are you a fortune teller?" she asked, wondering if they had been the victim of an elaborate marketing campaign.

Hook's lips thinned as he took the seat next to Emma. "Another psychic. Wonderful."

Mother Elena looked at him with bright brown eyes, holding an energy that belied her age.

"I am much more than a psychic, child," she said, with no trace of her previous vulnerability.

"And I am much more than a child, psychic," Hook replied with waning patience. "How did you know we were here?"

Mother Elena tilted her head to the side. "I had heard whisperings."

"The townspeople," Emma muttered, remembering the idiots from the first tavern.

"No, dear child, the dead." The wagon was silent as the newcomers processed this. The old woman smiled, showing almost toothless gums. "I am a conduit between this world and the next." Her eyes flicked to a spot over Emma's shoulder and lingered there for a moment. "There is somebody with us, if you wish to verify my claim."

Emma twisted around on the stool but there was no one behind her. Though practicality told her not to be so foolish, she still shivered at the thought of being in the presence of a ghost.

"No one I know will even be alive for another couple hundred years," she said, turning back around and forgetting in that moment that she was not the only one in the wagon who had lost someone.

"The dead affix themselves to a person, not a time," Mother Elena explained.

Now Emma was intrigued. "Who is it?"

Mother Elena closed her eyes and tilted her head again as though listening to music only she could hear.

"I see…a wolf," she said, raising her hand and tracing a shape through the air as a chill ran up Emma's spine. "A feeling of being lost, controlled. Gone before his time-"

"Emma, you can't seriously believe this woman," Hook interrupted, bored and annoyed.

"Shut up," Emma said faintly, both eager and afraid to hear Mother Elena continue.

"There was a kiss," the old woman continued. "And then…" she winced and clutched at her chest. Her eyes opened and, upon finding Emma's, filled with pity. "He is sad that he had to leave so soon after finding you, but content now in his freedom."

A tear slipped unchecked down Emma's cheek as she smiled. It was comforting to hear that Graham, wherever he was, was happy. She could feel Hook watching her, confused.

"I'm glad," she said, hoping that Graham could hear her.

Mother Elena turned her gaze onto Hook. "Do you still need convincing? There will be someone waiting to make contact, no doubt. Your face may be unmarked by age but you have one thousand years worth of suffering etched onto your soul."

In a moment, Hook's demeanour shifted. He seemed unnerved, even afraid. He fell back on drawling sarcasm, as Emma noticed he was prone to doing when he felt out of his depth.

"Impressive considering I haven't been alive half that long."

Mother Elena was not amused.

"The only impressive thing about tragedy is its scope," she said, rebuking his glib words. She turned her attention to Emma. "Your destiny lies outside this land. I can help you leave, for a price."

"We don't have any money," Emma warned. She didn't know where she stood with Mother Elena; clearly the old woman had some psychic ability, but asking for a reward was a sign of a scam.

"No, not money," Mother Elena said with a shake of her head. "This land is plagued by an unnatural beast."

Hook nodded, regaining his composure. "We will slay it."

"No," Emma said quickly, glaring at Hook. He clearly still underestimated Dracula, dismissing him as a story. He frowned at her in response, not annoyed but curious at her sharpness. She stood her ground and directed her next words to Mother Elena. "I'm sorry but that isn't an option."

Dragons, fine. Ogres, less than fine but still achievable. Dracula? No. Emma had to draw a line somewhere, and the fabled vampire was it.

"You misunderstand," Mother Elena said, leaning forward over the table. Her earrings rattled with the movement. "I do not ask that you fight the monster yourself. There is already a group of men on their way here to complete that task. I ask you to ensure that he stays dead."

Emma frowned. She was no expert but she was certain that a little sunlight, a little decapitation, a stake to the heart and hey, no more vampire.

"He can't be killed?" Hook asked, finally interested in something to old woman had to say.

Mother Elena sighed. "Long ago, a powerful imp arrived in the town." Her expression twisted in anger. "We thought he was here to free us from the monster but instead he damned us all with the darkest magic."

Powerful imp? Emma sincerely hoped that was not who she thought it was. She had read enough of Henry's book to know that Rumplestiltskin was involved in the most unlikely of tales.

"He made a mockery of time by tearing a hole into it and creating a loop triggered by the monster's death," Mother Elena continued, shaking her head. "A hundred men have slain the demon and time has reset a hundred times in the town to allow him back his existence. We protected ourselves as best we could; we are not exempt from the reset but we are the only ones who remember it. Meanwhile men go out into the world proclaiming to have slain the monster, unaware that time has looped back to before they even arrived here."

Emma had only read half of _Dracula _but she was pretty damn sure that this had not happened in the book.

"Why haven't you told the townspeople about it?"

"We are outcasts. They spit on us if we leave the forest."

Though Mother Elena's head was held high, Emma lowered her eyes in sympathy. She had never faced persecution on that scale but she knew what it was like to not belong. Now she understood the reaction to the girl who had led them here.

"So travel away," Hook said, as though it was obvious. "You owe these people nothing. Flee the town and leave them to the monster."

"This is our home," Mother Elena said, her forehead wrinkling further with her affront to the suggestion. "I will not leave it to be ravaged by the undead. And besides," she added, "who is to say that we will not be dragged back here every time the curse resets? In the camp we are protected. Our blood is safe from the demon."

The wagon was silent for a few minutes as everyone involved collected their thoughts.

"So you want us to find a way to break the imp's curse?" Emma asked. At Mother Elena's nod, she frowned. "If time resets the moment he dies then how can we make sure Dracula stays dead?"

Here, Mother Elena smiled grimly. "There is a delay between death and reset. Whatever deal the imp struck, he made sure that the demon would not become invulnerable."

"So why haven't you sent in men to slay the demon before now?" Hook asked.

Emma could tell that he was not asking to be difficult; he was seriously considering accepting the offer and wanted to know every angle. It was smart.

"We have."

The admission - and its implication - weighed heavily in the wagon.

Emma was torn. The heroism in her blood demanded she help save these people, but her logical side told her it was suicide. She needed to determine if this was their only option to get home, if Mother Elena was even telling the truth.

"Give us the rest of the day to think about it," she said eventually.

"We'll be back here by nightfall with our decision," Hook added, as though he had been part of the evaluation process all along. "If we return, you can tell us everything you know about how to keep the vampire dead."

Mother Elena had no choice but to accept their terms, however begrudgingly. Emma offered her a smile as they stood up to leave.

"She wants you to stop."

At the old woman's sudden words, Hook glanced at Emma, who shrugged.

"You lived together as though nothing tied you down, but she feels that revenge has anchored you."

Hook became very still, with a twitch in his jaw his only movement. Emma kept a wary eye on him, knowing that this was a sign of anger. Someone from Hook's past was warning him, and Emma had a good idea of who that was. Mother Elena, unaware or perhaps unconcerned with the effect her words were having, continued.

"She wants you to be free again, as happy as you once -"

"That's enough!" Hook snapped, rounding on the seated Mother Elena. His terrible voice filled the small wagon. "Milah is dead and you have no leave to use your trickery to give her a voice!"

Emma stepped in front of him, shielding the old woman from danger. "Calm down," she said, unnerved despite herself at the hatred in the pirate's eyes that had directed itself at her the moment she spoke. She prepared to defend herself in case Hook lashed out but all he did was glare. He was on the verge of spitting something out, something he could not take back, but he stopped himself. With one last venomous glance at Mother Elena, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the wagon.

Emma watched him go, wary and more than a little sad that his sore spot had been so thoroughly exploited. He needed time to cool down, but not too long that they lost sight of their objective. It would be a delicate balance that Emma was already dreading trying to handle.

"She likes you."

To Emma's surprise, Mother Elena was smiling. It took Emma a moment to understand who the woman was talking about.

"Who, Milah?"

Mother Elena nodded. "Yes. The two of you are connected more than you know." While Emma was pondering this, Milah apparently spoke some more. "She wants you to take care of her grandson."

Emma frowned. She was all for honoring the dead and their last requests, but taking on another kid was a little above and beyond.

"How am I meant to do that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow before hastily lowering it. That was a habit she did _not _want to pick up.

Mother Elena smiled again, sharing a cosmic joke that Emma was not privy to.

"You will understand one day."

* * *

**A/N 2: Hey guys, hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm basically just covering my tracks here by saying that not a lot of historical research went into this chapter (dissertation is eating my time) and it's been awhile since I've read **_**Dracula**_** (despite studying it in class next week, eep) so any errors are entirely my bad. I figured that **_**Dracula**_** takes place in the same world as **_**Frankenstein**_**, hence black and white, and Mother Elena and the gypsies are taken from my favourite series of books, The Gemma Doyle Trilogy by Libba Bray. Strongly advise you to check them out. Rumplestiltskin's curse will be explored and explained more next chapter. Okay, I'm out! Love.**


	5. Chapter Five

******Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, nor am I affiliated with Adam Horowitz or Eddy Kitsis. Title of the story is taken from a song by Carina Round. For the hat-trick of things I do not own, see basically everything.**

* * *

**A/N: Sorry it's been awhile my loves, university deadlines have been kicking me in the face but I finally got my dissertation on fairytales handed in! (if you follow me on tumblr and facebook then this is the third time you're reading about this and I'm sorry). Again, I'm completely screwing with the original sources and their timelines for my own entertainment (and hopefully yours). I was hoping that the seminar I took on _Dracula_ would be useful, but unless you want me to relate the novel in terms of capitalism (…?) it's pretty useless. This chapter is heavy on exposition, apologies but it's necessary. Thank you so much for your reviews/favourites/follows, they boost me up! Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

The gypsy men stirred as Hook stormed past them. A young Indian man gripped a cricket bat and watched the pirate pass with cautious eyes. Hook ignored them all, focusing only on getting as far away from that witch and her damned lies as he could.

He would not allow anyone to use his love's memory as a tool for manipulation. Milah deserved more than that. Hook should go back there and cut the witch's tongue out and make sure she could never disrespect the dead again.

The trees remained in color as he strode further and further into the forest, marking this area as under the gypsy enchantment. He knew that Emma was following him and hoped that she wasn't attempting to be subtle about it. If she was, she was failing miserably.

Ornaments chimed in the breeze as they hung from low branches. The trees thinned out into a small clearing, in which stood a well made of pale stone. He told himself he would stop there and collect his thoughts but Emma shouted out before he could reach it.

"Hook, wait! We need Mother Elena-"

"We don't _need_ anything," he cut across sharply, still marching forwards. "We can just go back through the hat."

"Right into the hands of the Queen of Diamonds." With an unexpected burst of speed, Emma passed him and came to an abrupt halt in his path, forcing him to stop. He glared at her but she held her ground. "Remember that really big diamond that you stole from her? She does, and she'll execute the both of us if we go back to Wonderland."

"Better an enemy we know than one we don't," he growled, side-stepping her and striding ahead so that Emma had to almost jog to keep up. "Who knows what the gypsy witch has planned for us?"

"First off, I'm pretty sure the term 'gypsy' is offensive," Emma said, as though this would be the type of thing that would bother a pirate. Hook reached the well and stopped. Now that he didn't have walking to distract him he felt anger rise. "Second," Emma continued, oblivious, "after everything you've seen, what makes you so sure that ghosts don't exit?"

"Because she would have come back to me by now!"

Although the dull thud of his palm against stone well quickly faded, his voice rang through the trees. In the distance, a bird took flight. He knew that Emma was staring at him but he kept his eyes fixed inside the well. He would not show weakness in front of anybody. A useless emotion was threatening to escape in form of a cracked voice or a tear and he bit the inside of his cheeks to focus himself.

"She wouldn't have just left me here by myself," he said, steadier and certain in his heartbreak. "She would have found some way to come back. Milah was many things, but she wasn't cruel." His eyelids flickered and he looked away for the briefest of moments. "At least," he amended, "not to me."

Emma remained silent as she struggled for something to say. He knew how she hated revealing the chinks in her armor and offering comfort to someone carried the danger of admitting that she had been through something similar. He knew this, and so it surprised him when her voice wavered.

"Hook, I…"

"I don't want your pity," he warned, risking a glance up at her.

"It isn't pity," Emma said, though the sadness in her eyes said otherwise. "It's sympathy. I know what it's like."

The impenetrable Emma Swan, admitting that she hurt. Hook wouldn't have believed it if she wasn't stood in front of him, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her jacket in subconscious vulnerability. She didn't attempt any empty condolences and he didn't ask about her past.

"I suppose you want me to go back there and apologize to the witch," he said, the lift of his eyebrow suggesting he had some choice suggestions of his own.

Emma shook her head. "No. She shouldn't have told you those things if you didn't want to hear them. She should've asked first."

Hook felt himself relax. He didn't need anyone to validate his anger but it was a relief to be understood, to be spared the condescending words that Cora or Regina would have offered. In the wake of his anger there was a deep, bone-aching weariness. Only half-conscious of what he was doing, he sat down on the grass and leant back against the well for support. He looked up at Emma and by way of a nod indicated that he wanted her to sit beside him.

"What, we're having a heart to heart now?" she asked, a little sceptical but not unkind.

Hook managed a slight smile. "If that's the only body contact you'll give me."

"I'm pretty sure a punch to the face qualifies as body contact," Emma said, but sat down all the same.

Her eyes took in the forest around them, lingering on the charms in the trees, and Hook had to remind himself that she was not from a world where magic was commonplace. Once they were back in Storybrooke and he had finally killed Rumplestiltskin and avenged Milah, Hook would like to explore the world. He would like very much for Emma to be the one to show it to him, though he would never admit this is any other form than a teasing throwaway comment.

"You lost someone, too," he noted, remembering Emma's earnest sorrow in the wagon at the old gypsy's "contact" with the other side.

"I've lost a lot of people," Emma replied, her tone hard. "I was even lucky enough to find some of them again."

The walls were firmly back in place. Hook didn't let it deter him.

"The man the gypsy claimed to speak to…was he your son's father?"

Emma took a minute to decide whether to answer. Hook could see indecision fight across her features, whispering all the reasons she should not open her heart and trust this man, this pirate. Eventually something other than common sense won out, and she shook her head.

"No. No, it was someone else. Henry's dad isn't…"

She did not finish her thought and it seemed to Hook that there was a lot that Henry's father was not. Not terribly bright, would be his first sin. Anyone who would let Emma Swan go without a fight had to be missing a significantly large piece of their brain.

"But he was the one you loved?"

Pride could mask much if it was fierce enough. Emma looked at him in such a way that a lesser man would miss her vulnerability, her fear and a memory too painful to share. Any man other than Hook would not have been able to see how her romantic entanglement with this man had broken her.

Anger, swift and unexpected, rose up in his chest. On the beanstalk he had been naïve and arrogant enough to assume that Emma's barriers were hastily scraped together, as thin as paper. An annoyance but no real problem to anyone determined enough to breach them. The more time they spent together the more he realized that Emma had reinforced her walls with several layers of steel. Something terrible had happened to her to make her this way, and he could only hope that it was not the one thing that no woman deserved.

There were not many values that Captain Hook had taken from his life as Killian Jones, but respecting a woman's right to choose who she would take to bed was instilled deeply into his heart. In his early days as Captain he had killed more than one of his crew who had disobeyed this fundamental rule. If he discovered that anyone had so much as thought about touching Emma like that then Hook would make sure, one piece at a time, that the man would never be able to act on his sick impulse.

"He was the one I loved," Emma confirmed after a few more moments of silence. She would not look at him, she would not let her voice waver, but Hook understood the sadness there all the same. He knew how much it must have taken for her to admit that to him but he couldn't stop himself from prying further.

"He hurt you."

It wasn't a question, not exactly, but for the longest time Emma did not answer. Hook wasn't asking out of idle curiosity; he was trying to understand her, trying to establish a cause-and-effect in this madly infuriating woman who was never too far from his thoughts.

"He left. People let you down," was all she said. Her softness had been replaced by a stern certainty. "Love hurts like a bitch." She wrapped strands of grass around her finger and twisted them until they broke. "Funny how they kind of gloss over that in the fairytales."

Hook scoffed. "Of course it hurts. How else are you meant to know it's love? The more it hurts, the more it's worth it in the end."

Emma tugged at the grass. "Sometimes the only reason it hurts so much is because you're holding onto something that isn't meant to be."

Hook knew that she was speaking from her own experience and nothing more, but in a few careless words it felt like she had managed to completely dismiss his drive to avenge Milah, the one he was still holding onto with everything he had. She had been his reason to wake up, his reason to continue living for centuries longer than nature intended. He couldn't just let her go…what would his purpose in life be if he didn't have revenge?

He hated to admit it but it perturbed him that she had made him question so much in so few words. Her unique way of getting under his skin was a distraction that he didn't need. Anything other than finding a way to kill Rumplestiltskin was a distraction that he didn't need. He repeated this to himself in the fading afternoon light, so many times that he whole-heartedly believed it. Then he happened to glance over at Emma, whose strands of blonde hair picked up in the breeze, drifted across her closed eyelids and cheeks and then rested on her lips, and his resolve faded. She may have been a distraction, but she was a distraction that he wanted around. He wouldn't look too closely at the reasons why.

Sensing that she was being watched, Emma opened her eyes. She looked over at him, her eyebrows drawing together in an unspoken question.

"Just wondering if you'd fallen asleep," Hook lied.

"No." She tilted her neck from side to side, trying to ease its soreness. "Come on, we can at least hear Mother Elena out," she said, getting to her feet. "If she's full of crap, we'll just find our own way out."

She stuck out her hand awkwardly, offering a solidarity that it was clear that she was unsure if Hook would actually accept. Hook took her hand without second thought, rewarding her kindness with one of the only genuine smiles he had had cause to give in centuries. As sorely tempted as he was to 'accidentally' bump into her as she helped him to his feet, he settled for the feel of her hand in his.

It was a different kind of intimacy than the one he had been so accustomed to. Nameless girls and debauched acts that happened so frequently they lost their shock value. Before Milah there had been no one he felt something other than fleeting desire for, and after Milah's death there had been no one at all. And now…well, now were all sorts of confusing.

Emma smiled too tightly to suggest that she was entirely comfortable with the situation, and made to leave, letting go of his hand in the process. But Hook grinned; he would not let her go that easily.

"Ah, hold on," he said, gently pulling her back. "You can't just walk away from a wishing well."

Emma's look questioned his mental faculties. "Sure I can. Apparently it's _you _I can't just walk away from."

They both knew that that wasn't true. Rather than ruin their camaraderie, Hook grinned.

"I'm flattered, love." He released her and fished around in one of his pockets, withdrawing a small drawstring bag. "I thought we might try our luck and throw a coin in. "

"You're going to rob this town dry," Emma muttered even as she held out her palm for the money.

Upon receiving it, she held the coin so tightly that it was certain to leave an indent in her hand. Her face fell from its carefully constructed mask in the seconds before she tossed the coin over the edge and into the water with a careless attitude that Hook didn't buy for a second. She was desperate for a miracle. He followed her lead and threw a coin into the well, hearing a faint splash far below.

The forest was still as Hook and Emma waited for something to happen. The seconds ticked by and it became more and more apparent that there was no magic in the well. Emma scoffed as though she had known all along that the vague plan would fail.

"Your wish come true?" she asked, deadpan.

Hook's heavy sigh countered the glint in his eyes. "You're still in possession of all your clothes, so I'm going to have to say no."

"That was your wish?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "You're going to need a lot more pennies."

"Luckily for you, I'm a thief."

Emma shook her head, half-amused. His innuendos and quips had not been appreciated by the other women in her group but he knew that Emma found them endearing. Or perhaps she found them easier to deal with than the quiet intensity that came over him whenever their skin touched. At any rate, he knew that if he ever went too far she would have zero problems with punching him.

* * *

Emma felt a curious sense of pride that Hook was putting aside his anger to meet with Mother Elena again. He was nothing if not determined in his goals, and that was a quality she had always admired. Well, except for when it left her stranded in a cage.

"I knew you would come back," Mother Elena said, her lips lifting upwards as Emma and Hook climbed into the wagon. They did not sit down and no seat was offered.

"Did the spirits tell you?" Hook asked, bitingly sarcastic despite Emma's warning glance.

Mother Elena's smile did not waver. "All arrogant men believe they can subdue the demon. You are no different."

"I believe she just called you an arrogant man," Hook murmured, raising an eyebrow at Emma, who shrugged.

"I've been called worse."

When Mother Elena looked up, her dark eyes sought out Emma's. "You have many names."

"Well, that wasn't really where I was going with that-"

"They call you Princess. Savior. Titles to live up to."

Emma sobered at the reminders of the woman that others wanted (expected) her to be. They bestowed roles on her like they were nothing, but the responsibility weighed down on Emma's shoulders more and more with every wrong move she made. And she had made _a lot_ of wrong moves.

"I'm trying," she said. It was an excuse, a justification, and a plea to be understood all in two simple words.

Mother Elena's withered hands gripped the edge of the table. "Now you must try harder. Free us from this curse and I will grant you the means to leave this realm."

Emma nodded. At least they were getting straight to the point; neither side had time to waste. She drew out the wooden stool and sat down, leaning forward intently towards the old woman.

"How do we break the curse?"

"The Count's life force is tied to something other than his body," Mother Elena began, speaking slowly in her accented voice. "In England, there are whispers of a portrait that bore the weight of its subject's sin. Every scratch that the subject received, the portrait would absorb. Age left its mark upon the painting rather than the man."

"Making him immortal," Hook said, his tone somewhere between sceptical and impressed.

"In theory." Mother Elena's intuitive eyes rose to meet Hook's. "But no one can live a life of sin and expect to escape its consequences. The man was driven mad, and when he destroyed the painting he died along with it. We believe that the Count made a similar deal with the imp that visited here."

Emma frowned, processing this. "You think Dracula has a magic painting that keeps him alive?"

This had not even featured on Emma's list of reasons that Dracula could cheat death and she wasn't entirely sure how to react to it. Incredulous laughter seemed a good option, but then so did panic.

"I've heard of the man," Hook said slowly, trying to recall a memory long since past. "Met him, if the rumors were true. His name was Gray." Then, with grudging respect, "Hell of a drinker."

"You have the weirdest drinking buddies," Emma muttered, temporarily forgetting the situation.

Mother Elena brought her straight back. "It is not exactly the same. Dark forces keep the demon in his Undead state, and this magic interferes with the power of the painting. Whereas Gray's portrait absorbed everything about the man, Dracula's painting can only preserve his life force, not his physical body"

"Which is why he can be killed in the first place," Emma said, nodding in understanding. "His body is still vulnerable."

Mother Elena smiled, pleased that Emma had caught on. "Yes. His essence lives on even while his body is incapacitated. Time resets so that the demon's body can be restored."

"Because what's the point of living forever if you've got no head," Emma supplied. She really, really wanted a drink.

"Why would Dracula make a deal where his only weakness is something as easily destroyed as a painting?" Hook asked, his tone suggesting that he had better find the answer satisfactory.

"The Count did not craft the deal," Mother Elena said, pointing a finger upwards in correction. "The imp did, and he did this so that he could have an escape clause. Making the Count immortal without exception would be a very foolish thing to do. If the demon crossed the imp, the imp had a way of revoking the deal. Besides," she added, plucking bottles from the shelves around her seemingly at random and placing them on the table, "the painting is not as accessible as you believe."

Emma scoffed. Of course. The task hadn't been too difficult up until now - immortal bloodsucking demon, the usual - so why not throw in a little more difficulty?

"Let me guess," she said flatly, "it's hidden in the tallest room in the tallest tower, right?"

Mother Elena uncorked the bottles in front of her and poured their dusty contents onto the table. "The painting is guarded by the three sisters of Dracula," she said, making patterns in the brightly colored dust without looking up.

"He has sisters?"

Hook's sudden interest irked Emma. Did he really think he'd be able to flirt his way out of death?

"Don't get your hopes up," she said, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice. "They're man-eaters in the worst way."

Hook's smile bordered on suggestive. "Jealous, love? Don't worry, I only have eyes for you."

"Dracula ensured that they too are protected from eternal death." Mother Elena said, bringing the conversation back to relevancy. "They share his blood, and blood is life."

"Got to love a guy who takes care of his family," Emma muttered, trying not to sound bitter. She watched as Mother Elena picked up pinches of different piles of dust and dropped them back into one small vial. "So, how do we kill him?"

"That is not what is required of you," the old woman said, re-corking the vial and holding it out to Emma, who took it warily. "There are already men on the way to deal with the demon and his sisters. You need to find and destroy the painting."

Emma did not know why she was holding a vial of dust and the situation did not seem about to be explained. She added it to her long list of questions and let Mother Elena finish the current topic.

"Who are the men?" Hook asked. Just from those scornful words, Emma knew that no matter what the answer was, the Captain would attempt to pull rank.

"Ones who have had dealings with the Count in the past, the men who originally defeated him."

Emma blinked. Let that sink in. And then: "You're sending us off with the guys who have _already failed_ to kill Dracula?" She exchanged an incredulous glance with Hook. "I don't think the 'if at first you don't succeed' thing should really apply in these kinds of situations."

"No, my dear, they killed him," Mother Elena assured her. "He just did not stay dead."

Emma brushed off the semantics. "So we're going after him again with the exact same guys using the exact same method? What happens if we don't find the painting in time and Dracula wakes up?"

"I think we would suddenly find ourselves in dire need of a magic painting of our own," Hook said, as unperturbed as always by the notion of death. He grinned at Emma, smug despite the circumstances. "The Queen of Diamonds is starting to look like a quite a good option, hm?"

Emma hoped that her glare was a sufficient answer.


	6. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, nor am I affiliated with Adam Horowitz or Eddy Kitsis. Title of the story is taken from a song by Carina Round. For the hat-trick of things I do not own, see basically everything.**

* * *

**A/N: Hello, are we all gearing up for "Second Star to the Right" ? I am unprepared. Hope you enjoy the chapter, thank you for all of your wonderful reviews/favourites/follows. Enjoy!**

* * *

Van Helsing arrived in the gypsy camp three hours later, well into the night, accompanied by two harried Englishmen who introduced themselves as _Jonathan Harker, delighted to meet you_ and _Lord Arthur Godalming, at your service_. All were in black and white, even within the parameters of the gypsy camp, though none of them mentioned aloud the curious colorful aspects of their new allies.

At the mention of an aristocrat in their midst, Hook stood up a little straighter. Not out of respect, as Emma initially assumed, but out of a sneering sense of irony. It was impressive how a simple quirk of an eyebrow could convey so much and yet here the Captain was, already silently insulting their company.

"Emma Swan." She nodded to each of the men who nodded, somewhat uneasily, in return.

Hook's three second pause was more noticeable than it would have been if he had not been wearing a contemplative expression that clearly wondered if the newcomers were deserving of his name.

"Captain Hook," he said eventually, bestowing it like a gift.

Emma wondered if she would ever not find his true identity bizarre. To her, he wasn't the infamous pirate from children's literature, he was just…Hook. Suggestive and infuriating and occasionally-sort-of-decent Hook. Or maybe she barely knew Hook at all. Maybe she had spent most of the time dealing with Killian Jones without even realising it. On that thought, she wondered why he had given her leave to use his real name when they first met but not to these men.

Jonathan, a thin man with a nervous quality, attempted a smile.

"Peculiar name."

Hook lifted up his namesake, angling it to allow it its full, vaguely threatening impact. "Not really."

"He spent a whole minute and a half coming up with it," Emma said, ignoring the glare that Hook shot her.

The joke did not diffuse the tension as she had hoped. The Englishmen exchanged an uncomfortable glance while Van Helsing's indulgent smile was too forced to be anything other than condescending.

The clearing was illuminated by lanterns placed on poles, giving the forest a shadowy quality that warned anyone from entering. No one seemed overly concerned by this, including the newcomers. Then again, Emma realized, they had already fought off the worse thing this part of the world had to offer. Even Jonathan, whose demeanour suggested he would jump at the slightest provocation, did not seem bothered. It gave her a little more faith in them than she had had three hours ago.

"So, we doing this thing tonight?" she asked, as though slaughtering a family of vampires and breaking a curse was like a trip to the mall.

"We will gather provisions and depart," Van Helsing confirmed, because old-timey gentlemen did not just say 'yes'. "Vampires detest sunlight so we will strike as soon as the sun is up. Given the present company, it may take us longer to trek to the castle than previously anticipated."

Three pairs of eyes flicked to an irritated Emma. She was a woman, not a invalid. She could outrun any of these idiots, trek or no trek. Before she could point this out, Arthur spoke up.

"Surely the initiative lies in taking a carriage?"

"I doubt the townspeople would take us all the way," Jonathan said, raising a hand in protest. "Curse or no, they are aware of the dark forces that abide in the castle."

"So we shall ask them to take us as far as it please them and then travel the rest of the way on foot," said Van Helsing, nodding at his own decision. "The time frame should still be adequate in terms of sunlight."

The men quibbled among themselves for a little while longer on the best course of action as a bemused Hook and Emma watched.

"Would you like to go and get drunk?" Hook asked as the bickering entered its third minute.

"More than you know," Emma replied. She was two seconds away from sprinting to the nearest bar when she sighed. "We can't leave these idiots alone. They may know how to kill Dracula but look at them…they're going to need all the help they can get."

"Will this take terribly long?" Arthur asked his friends with a pinched expression. "Only I have important matters to attend to back on my estate. There is to be a ball in two weeks time, you see, and it's weighing quite dreadfully on my mind that the preparations will lag during my absence."

A silence greeted this declaration, in which Hook wordlessly handed Emma his hipflask. She unscrewed it and took three gulps without pausing to discern the taste and then passed it back to him. She would have to be at least _slightly _tipsy in order to cope with their new companions.

* * *

Mother Elena burdened them with weapons before they left so that each person had a stake and a silver dagger. Small bottles of holy water were distributed and Hook allowed the old gypsy woman to wash down his hook with it as an added attack. The purpose of the dust she had previously given to Emma was explained to be infused with magic to reveal the portrait.

"Only sprinkle it when you believe the painting to be near," she warned. "The dust is powerful but it has its limits - in this case, distance."

"I thought the sisters were protecting it," Emma said, frowning. "Should we not just look for the painting they're all standing in front of, or whatever?"

"Perhaps," Mother Elena said, having the grace to seem guilty for her lack of knowledge. "The dust is in case magic has been used to obscure the location."

Emma nodded. "Right. Thanks." She attempted a smile. "See you in a few hours, hopefully."

Hook scoffed as their small group made their way out of the camp. "Even if something happens, you'll be able to keep in touch," he said, a sardonic smile on his lips. "She has that charming ability to speak to the dead, don't forget."

Emma didn't reply, feeling that the topic covered too much dangerous ground. With Van Helsing leading the way, they all made their way into the town to begin a long and arduous journey.

* * *

Emma pretended to be asleep for the majority of the carriage ride. She doubted anyone bought her unconsciousness, mostly because the path to Dracula's castle was so unsteady that there were a few instances where she almost hit her head on the roof. Still, it saved her from making conversation that she had no interest in and enduring Van Helsing's unwitting sexism.

When the horses pulling the carriage rode to a stop, Emma's eyes snapped open.

"She lives," Hook noted wryly. "Thought you had left me to deal with this alone."

The other men looked vaguely offended but didn't say anything. Emma managed a slight smile. Without preamble, she hopped from the carriage back onto solid ground and savored the freedom to move after such a restrictive journey.

As Van Helsing arranged payment for the driver, Emma took a moment to take in the sight of the castle looming ahead of them.

"Frightened, love?"

She didn't look away from the castle. "I just want to get it over with," she said. "No more jumping through hoops."

"Or portals," Hook added, trying to lighten her mood.

"Please do let us know if you find the pace we set too demanding, Miss," Van Helsing called over before Emma could reply to Hook. She diverted her attention to the vampire hunter, certain that he could set the pace at a sprint and she still wouldn't complain out of pure stubbornness.

"After you, gentlemen," she replied, her tone so bitingly sarcastic that it stopped just short of outright antagonism.

* * *

The castle was exactly as Emma had expected and feared: majestic but decrepit, home to every conceivable nightmare and ones outside the realm of imagination. Even the soft rays of the early morning sun did nothing to lessen the dread in the pit of her stomach. The group gathered at the edge of a forest, staring up at their destination. Emma had absolutely no inclination to take so much as another step towards it, but she knew she had to. She pictured Henry's face when she was finally reunited with him and used it as motivation.

"We doing this, or what?" she asked the men, aiming for flippant and landing somewhere in the vicinity of casually hysterical.

She urged her feet to begin the long walk up to the castle doors, a walk bordered on either side by dead plants and trees that not even ravens would roost in. The eerie black and white quality of the world did its best to unsettle outsiders and Emma had to admit that it was doing a damn fine job.

"Are you brave or suicidal?" Hook asked, keeping pace with her as she strode on ahead.

"I think I'm somewhere in between," Emma admitted, keeping her eyes firmly on the castle doors. "Don't make me stop and think about what I'm doing, otherwise I'll run screaming."

Hook didn't make light of her fear though, true to form, he offered her several suggestions as to how they could take their minds off things. Emma wasn't entirely sure what she replied; her mouth was working as a separate entity to her brain, which focused solely on the impending danger.

Large iron rungs were affixed to the double doors. Emma lifted one, feeling its heavy weight in her hands. She raised her eyebrows at Hook.

_Should I try and open it?_

His nod suggested, _Yeah, give it a go._

Emma gripped the rung and tugged. The door opened a crack and, encouraged, Emma pulled again. Hook gave whatever assistance he could and together they created a space wide enough to slip through.

"He's not a big fan of security," Emma noted, taking a few hesitant steps into the castle.

"He doesn't have to be," Hook said, following closely behind. "He isn't about to stop anyone foolish enough to come here from coming in."

Emma barely heard him, transfixed by the entrance hall. She had expected the castle's interior to reflect its decayed walls, yet to her surprise the hall was well-lit, clean and, the most perplexing of all, in full color. Even the faded tapestries on the wall seemed lavish after the monochrome world they had left on the other side of the castle doors.

"Was he expecting us?" she murmured to Hook, her eyes not resting in one place for too long as she tried to scope out any lurking shadows.

"I don't know."

Jonathan came to a stop beside them, slightly out of breath after the brisk walk.

"The Count always ensures he is presentable," he said, an admirable mix of fear and determination setting his features into a stern mask. "Always prepared for visitors."

Van Helsing clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You are a brave man. Do this for Mina."

"As I will do it to honor Lucy," Arthur said, no longer the aristocrat who planned balls but a man who had loved and lost. Emma saw Hook appraise the man in light of this new information.

"What's the plan?" Emma asked, wincing as fear raised her voice, making it echo around the hall.

Van Helsing adopted a resolute expression. "We split up."

Emma scoffed before she could hepl herself. "Yeah, we're not doing that."

The men, who had already started walking away, paused. They glanced at each other in confusion and turned back around.

"Excuse me, Miss," Van Helsing said, adopting a gentle and incredibly condescending tone that made Emma bristle. "We have slain the monster before-"

"Except it didn't take," Emma interrupted. She knew how this kind of thing went down and wanted to avoid as many of the horror clichés as she could. "If we split up, Dracula will pick us off one by one."

The men, still a couple of hundred years away from sitting through one predictable horror movie after another, had no frame of reference for how badly things could go if the split up, or searched a supposedly haunted yet abandoned place, or said "I think we're safe now". True, they had lived through one of the cornerstones of the horror genre but now the story was rewriting itself. The rules had changed and now their methods had too as well.

"Good sir," Van Helsing said, switching his attention to Hook. "If you would care to explain to your lady the dangers of-"

"Actually, I agree with her," Hook said in his cold Captain's voice. "And while Emma often chooses not to listen, I assure you that she is perfectly capable of it. There is no need to talk to her through me."

Van Helsing pressed his lips together before forming them into an unnatural smile. Emma wouldn't be surprised if he felt intimidated; _she_ did, and the authoritative tone had been in her favor.

"Of course." Van Helsing turned his penitent eyes on her. "Forgive me, Miss. Swan."

"Sure," Emma said, brushing off the apology. He was a product of his time and no amount of scolding would change his views on women such a short period of time. Emma didn't like it, but she didn't have to like it. She just had to get on with the task at hand. At least he was more polite about it than the misogynistic idiots she had encountered back in her own world.

"Nevertheless, splitting up does seem to be the sensible option," Arthur said, as though nothing had occurred.

"In what world is that a sensible option?" Emma demanded, beginning to lose her temper. "Mother Elena said it was _your_ job to kill Dracula and his sisters."

"Two separate kills requires two separate groups," Arthur insisted. "It makes sense. Besides, the demons will be asleep. It's a timesaver above all else."

"Right, because time management is what we should be most aware of right now!"

Emma threw a _can you believe this?_ glare at Hook. His unspoken anger matched her own, but mixed in with that fury was also a determination that Emma had learned to be wary of. He wanted to prove himself and thought he had found a way to do so.

Emma was guessing this was why he didn't argue when the other men took their leave. He wanted to test his wits and strength against a legend and emerge as the victor. She was over macho posing in general and was about to tell him as much when he spoke in a slow, sarcastic voice.

"You should have told them about that time you killed a dragon," he said, watching as the men rounded a corner and disappeared from view. "That would've stopped them right in their tracks."

Emma frowned. "Shut up, I don't mention it _that _often."

Hook's slight smirk suggested he thought otherwise but he didn't voice his disagreement. He pulled out a wooden stake from their small bag of weapons and, as he was examining it, said:

"If all goes to plan, you'll be able to brag about defeating a vampire instead."

He handed Emma the other stake. She weighed it in her hands, wondering if she was Buffy in this realm.

"And if all doesn't go to plan?"

Hook shrugged. "Depends. How good are you at talking when your throat has been torn out?"

Emma thanked him for being a continuous source of comfort and walked away, admittedly slower than she would have liked for fear that they would be separated and she would have to wander the castle alone.

* * *

Each time a door was opened, Emma felt a jolt of fear that _this_ would be the one holding Dracula or his sisters. She raised her stake, realized that the room was empty, and then stepped back into the hallway. It was a process repeated too many times to suggest that the end result would be anything other than insanity.

"We're spending a lot of time opening doors in castles recently," Hook noted, closing the most recent door with an expression between relief and thwarted anticipation.

"Ours is a noble quest," Emma agreed flatly. She lifted her stake as Hook opened another door.

"A library," Hook said, dismissing its usefulness by letting the door fall closed and walking away.

"Well, no, wait," Emma said, lowering her weapons and pulling the door back open. "There might be some books on magic here. Something on a portal, maybe."

Hook took slow, deliberate steps back to the library door, stopping mere inches away from Emma. The spark of mischief was back in his eyes and Emma braced herself for whatever he was about to say.

"How do I know you don't just want to get me into a secluded, dimly lit room?"

Emma didn't flinch. "You're not that lucky, pal."

Hook's entrance to the library was accompanied by a big, theatrical sigh. "Alright, but if this is all part of some ruse to seduce me please just consider my innocence."

Emma rolled her eyes and followed him. "Noted."

The library was little more than a small room whose walls were covered in bookshelves. Lit oil lamps gave the room a comforting glow, resting on a large desk which occupied the centre space. Books were neatly stacked on top of it, next to a candle whose wick had burnt down.

"Check the spines of the books," Emma instructed, walking over to furthest bookshelf. "If anything is in English, great. If not, look for pictures."

"Pictures?" Hook repeated, amused. Emma heard his boots sink into the plush rug that carpeted the library. "Pictures of what?"

"I don't know…wands, potions…" Emma shrugged. "You know, magic stuff."

She heard Hook mutter a derisive _magic stuff_ under his breath as he got to searching. To Emma's surprise, some of the books were in English though most were in Latin and others in what she guessed to be Romanian. She glanced from title to title just enough to determine that they would be of no help and before long, her mind wandered.

She hoped Mary Margaret (her _mother_, she still wasn't over how weird that was) had escaped if not the Enchanted Forest then at least Cora. She hoped Mulan and Aurora had come to the woman's aid and they were all somewhere safe. She hoped Henry was happy and out of harm's way. She _hoped_, and it was so damn frustrating because it was all she could do right now.

None of the books seemed particularly helpful. A jittery nervousness overcame Emma. She knew that the demons in the castle would be fast asleep (_dead to the world_, she punned) but she was very concerned about what would happen if they somehow failed to find the painting before sundown.

"I should have grown up in a castle," she said, more to break the silence than anything. It was a random thought plucked from a meaningless string of observations her mind had made in an attempt to distract her from fear. "Not this castle. Unless my parents had some really freaky arranged marriage deal in mind for me."

"I should have grown up as a blacksmith in a tiny little village that about ten people have heard of. Fate always has something else in store, love."

Emma's hand stilled against the spine of a book. The admission was given so casually that it seemed foolish to react to it in any other way, but she felt like Hook telling her about his past was meaningful. She pretended to be reading the names printed on the book spines.

"So the 'I'm a blacksmith' thing back in the safe haven had some truth in it?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say truth. It was my father's career choice, not mine." He became quiet, contemplative, then sombre. "But that was a very long time ago."

Emma lowered her hand from the books, unable to even pretend that her mind was on anything other than their conversation. She found she wanted to learn more about young Killian Jones but she knew how this game worked. First, she would have to offer up something about herself.

"When I was younger, I wanted to be in a band. A group of musicians," she added, uncertain if Hook was acquainted with the term _band_ or if something like _troubadours_ would be more his area of vocabulary.

Hook sounded pleasantly surprised. "Oh, you sing?"

"No."

"Play an instrument?"

"No."

Hook's laugh was so soft that Emma wondered if he meant for it to escape his lips. "I'm beginning to see why that life didn't pan out for you."

Emma grinned (but only because the only ones who could see her were the books).

"Were you in it for the money and the women?" Hook asked, his lack of movement indicating that he too had temporarily abandoned the search in favor of hearing Emma's story.

"The companionship."

"Same thing, surely?"

His light teasing had Emma smiling again, though this time it was tinged with sadness. "I wanted a family. I thought that the closest I could get to that would be band-mates and fans." She was teetering on the verge of self-pity and pushed herself away from that dangerous ledge with a disparaging: "But then my total lack of talent made it obvious that that wouldn't happen."

"I think you're plenty talented."

Emma expected an innuendo-laden follow up, but when his quiet voice faded away into the library she realized that he was sincere. A confused sort of panic came over her as it always did in the rare moments she was given a compliment. She didn't know how to respond and so fell back on acerbic humor.

"You obviously haven't heard me sing."

She was almost disappointed in herself for taking the coward's way out and laughing the compliment off. Almost, but not quite, because she was not well-practiced in the art of gracefully receiving praise and anything she would have replied with would inevitably sound conceited.

Hook let out a soft, half-exasperated sigh.

"You know, lass, one of these day you're going to believe me when I tell you how wonderful you are."

Emma didn't reply. What did it matter to him whether she believed him or not? Feeling strangely vulnerable, she returned to pulling out books and reading their titles. After a moment she heard Hook do the same.

"The Count's a well-read man," he commented after another few minutes. "Books on law and London businesses…" he glanced over his shoulder at Emma. "Tell you what love, if this doesn't work out then we'll head off to London and make our fortune. The pirate and the princess."

"Sounds like a Dickens novel," Emma said dryly. The implications of his words caught up with her and she frowned. "How do you know about London?"

"I'm well-travelled," was his only answer.

Emma, who could hear his amused satisfaction at his own vague reply, turned and stared at the back of his head.

"And no," he said before she could speak. "The means by which I travelled there is no longer open to us."

She made a face at his (correct) assumption of her question and returned to the books, wondering how many times his smart attitude had gotten him punched in the past. Not enough, clearly, or he would have learnt his lesson by now.

"We should move," Emma said, shoving the last book on the shelf into place. "There's nothing useful here."

"Could have told you that out in the hallway," Hook muttered, giving Emma a bright (and deeply sarcastic) smile as she passed him.

Emma didn't wait for him before opening the next door along. She took a small step into the room, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. There were plenty of windows in the castle but they were all hidden behind thick curtains that didn't allow so much as a sliver of sunlight through. Emma idly wondered how much Dracula spent on candles.

"Hello."

She jumped at the soft voice and swung her stake almost blindly in response. Something gripped her wrist, using her stake-swinging momentum to its advantage and catching her off-balance. A pair of hands caught her around her waist before she fell, urging her upright. The stake was snatched away. Emma watched desperately as it skittered across the stone floor. The door slammed shut and Dracula's sisters simpered around her.

"You're beautiful," one of them sighed, the light gust of her breath tickling Emma's neck. "Stay with us."

"Yes," another breathed, trailing her thin fingers through Emma's hair. "Stay here with us."

"Be one of us."

Emma could feel herself shaking. Her heart beat faster, spiking her blood with fear and adrenaline. It was not the effect she wanted to produce in a room full of vampires; she imagined it was akin to presenting an alcoholic with the finest wine ever created and then only using tissue paper to separate him from it. Emma's skin would slice open under the sharp fingernails of the demons and her blood would pour, she was certain of it.

The hand in Emma's hair stilled as the door opened and Hook stepped inside. He paused, surprised at the sight before him, then surveyed the women with a quirk to his lips and a thousand unrepeatable thoughts running through his mind.

"Please," he said, smirking at the vampire closest to Emma. "Don't stop on my account."

Emma glared at him, more fearsome than the three demons combined. When she spoke, her voice was a strained warning.

"Hook."

"Just a second, darling, I'm committing this to memory." His eyes drifted over the scene with infuriating deliberation. "Alright, I've got it."

"Is this your lover?" the blonde vampire asked, tilting her head to the side so that it rested on Emma's shoulder.

Emma had never been as tense as she was in that moment. Every muscle was stone, every nerve taut with fear.

"He wishes," she managed with only the slightest shake in her voice.

Hook's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly when he heard Emma's distress. He made sure to keep his expression pleasant as he stepped further into the room, holding his hand up.

"Ladies, as much as I hate to break this up - and trust me, it pains me _beyond belief_ - I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the lovely Miss. Swan."

The brunette pursed her red lips just wide enough to show off the sharp points of teeth. "But _we_ want her."

"He could always play, too," the other brunette suggested, flicking her gaze from Hook's head to his feet. "For awhile."

Hook's regretful smile didn't reach his eyes. "Sorry sweetheart, I'm a monogamist at heart. Except on the first Tuesday of every month, then I'm whatever copious amounts of alcohol tells me I am."

With a flash of intuition, Emma knew Hook's game. His light, easy conversation was designed to put her at ease, to reassure her that this really was just another day on the job for him. Though it rang false (this time yesterday he had been vocal in his certainty that vampires didn't exist) it was a decent gesture. His eyes were busy scanning for a way to help Emma without the sisters harming her.

The blonde sister, still resting her head on Emma's shoulder, turned to Emma's neck and inhaled. She released the breath in a shudder. Emma jerked away from her without thinking, her survival instinct overriding her common sense. The vampire whimpered and pouted at her disobedient pet, attracting the attention of her sisters who released Emma in order to coo over the blonde.

Emma took her chance. She hoped that she had enough of a distraction to make it across the room but the sisters snarled at her the moment she began to back away from them. Their lips, drawn back over their teeth, quivered with rage. They were used to getting what they wanted, Emma could tell, and though consent meant nothing to them they still loathed to be refused.

She was still shaking when she came to a stop next to Hook. His hand slipped into hers and squeezed for the briefest of moments, offering her comfort and sharing his strength. She squeezed back without thinking, using the sensation to anchor herself. Emma Swan, who had faced down a dragon, an ogre and a giant, would not be bested by three nympho vampires. By the time Hook gently let go of her hand, she was more herself again.

"Eternal life is a really big commitment," Emma told the sisters with a sheepish shrug. "I mean, you're talking to someone who doesn't like to plan anything more than a week in advance."

"Why don't we leave and mull it over?" Hook suggested, trying to soothe the thick tension.

"We would prefer it you stayed," the taller brunette hissed, the thin silk of her dress swaying with her curves as she moved closer to her victims. "At least allow us to offer you something to drink."

She raised a sharp fingernail and drew it across her chest, gasping softly as blood gathered in the wake of the trail. Her eyes on Hook, she raised her finger to her mouth and licked the tip, catching the blood with her tongue. Hook stepped forward, entranced.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked in alarm.

"Hush now," the blonde vampire cooed to Emma. "There's plenty for you, too."

Emma knew she should run and save herself but she couldn't leave Hook behind. She watched in horror as he came to a stop in front of the temptress.

"Drink," she urged in a whisper, guiding his head downwards.

Hook's hand wrapped around the back of her neck, binding them together. His lips hovered over the slit, poised to lap at the blood. The vampire's eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, her arms falling to her sides, and that was when Hook straightened up and plunged his hook into her chest. Flesh burned and the demon screamed and screamed. Hook yanked out the attachment just long enough to withdraw a wooden stake and slam that in its place. There was a sickening crunch of wood breaking into what remained of the demon's heart.

It was over in less than five seconds. Emma gaped as the body crumpled to the floor, turning into a withered husk of a once beautiful shell. The remaining vampires stood motionless from the shock, staring at their fallen sister.

"We will rise again," the last brunette said, spitting out the words in her rage. Her eyes lifted from the prone form of her sister to her murderer, as inhuman as anything Emma had ever seen. "_You_ will not leave this room alive."

Hook's laugh was cruel and humorless. "I've been hearing variations of that for the last three hundred years. Don't make promises you can't keep."

The blonde sister lunged at Hook with an unearthly shriek , the talons she called fingernails primed for attack. Hook was ready for her, raising his sword and slashing her across the chest the moment she was within reach. The vampire howled but did not fall back. Hook opted for violence rather than precision and hacked at the demon. His sword could only incapacitate but that was all he needed until he could angle the vampire's neck just right against its blade.

Emma was ready for the other sister. She had uncorked the bottle of holy water the moment Hook had been attacked and now flung it into the oncoming demon's face. Flesh melted away into a featureless lump and Emma took the distraction of the vampire's distress to snatch up her stake. She tried to stab the vampire where the stood but the brunette's flailing arms prevented her. The demon may have been blinded by the holy water but she was still strong. Emma dodged another of the vampire's punches and, gaining an idea, reached out to grab the woman's calves. She pulled as hard as she could, uprooting the screeching brunette and watching with no small sense of satisfaction as her back smacked onto the hard floor.

Faster than she thought she could move, Emma straddled the vampire and rammed the stake into her chest with all the force she could muster. The sister screamed and writhed, what was left of her face contorting. Emma's hands trembled as she tried to drive the stake deeper until, with one last shudder, the vampire fell still. Her hands slick with blood, Emma pushed herself off the body and, panting, collapsed next to it.

A few seconds later, she heard the dull thud of the final vampire's head hitting the floor. She didn't bother looking up at it, not even sure if she could muster the energy. Her breathing evened out into small mouthfuls of air.

"Emma?" Hook's voice was frantic.

"Yeah?" she asked, struggling upwards into a sitting position in case there was more danger.

Hook, as bloodied and bruised as she imagined she herself was, relaxed from his tense state but his eyes still burned.

"Don't do that to me," he said, torn between relief and anger.

"What?" Emma asked, genuinely uncertain.

"You were lying motionless in a pool of blood after a fight with a vampire," he said stiffly, his fear manifesting into anger. "I'll allow you to draw your own conclusions as to what that looked like."

"It looked like you didn't have much faith in me." When he didn't smile at her teasing, she sobered. "Hook, I'm fine."

Emma didn't understand why he was mad. She got to her feet unsteadily and, careful to avoid the mutilated parts of vampires, stepped over to him. He kept his eyes determinedly on the bloodstains she had left behind, not looking at her even as she stopped in front of him.

"Hey," she said softly, reaching up and pressing her fingertips gently into his cheek so that he had no choice but to look at her. She raised her eyebrows, urging him to believe her. "I'm fine."

She lowered her hand at the cold look in his eyes. He was still angry and, though he was valiantly trying to hide it, so very afraid. She didn't tell him about the smudges of blood her light touch had left on her cheek and he didn't tell her how his heart had stopped in the seconds he thought he had lost her.

That was the price of caring for someone: you had to accept that one day you would lose them. It was a huge gamble to make, investing time and love into a person with only the hope that your time together will be worth it in the end. Hook wasn't ready to make that sacrifice again, he was too afraid. When her fingers dropped away from his cheek he felt a mixture of longing and relief. He wasn't sure what he felt for Emma, not entirely, but he knew that the thought of it scared him.

As he backed away from her touch, he realized that he was the one thing he had vowed never to be. He was a coward.

* * *

**A/N2: Hello, hope you enjoyed! Tried to fit this into the chapter but couldn't: the curse gave the vampires the ability to stay awake at all hours, hence conscious sisters.**


	7. Chapter Seven

******Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, nor am I affiliated with Adam Horowitz or Eddy Kitsis. Title of the story is taken from a song by Carina Round. For the hat-trick of things I do not own, see basically everything.**

* * *

**A/N: Back in business! My essays, exams and deadlines are done and I have finished University! It's insane but there we have it. Thank you so much for your patience and encouragements. This is a short chapter as I wanted to get it updated as soon as I could, half of the next chapter is already written and will be on its way in a couple of days (: Special thanks to Riv, whose edits and insanity kicked me into gear. One last note…I know the finale was a couple of weeks ago, but let's just take a moment to hyperventilate over it again. We're on our way to becoming canon! Enjoy the chapter (:**

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Emma wasn't sure what caused Hook's sudden shift in mood. Maybe that was just how he reacted to killing and almost dying. For her own part, Emma didn't know how to feel after taking the life of someone…some_thing_ else. It didn't feel like murder, exactly, because the vampire had been prepared to drink from her like a fountain. Still, she had been a walking, talking, almost-living thing and Emma had snatched that almost-life away from her. Her eyes were drawn to the prone, blood-drenched body on the floor. The vampire had a name, though Emma hadn't known it. She had sisters who loved her, and-

"Emma." Hook's voice bordered on stern, certainly not something to be ignored. After a moment, Emma looked up at him. "She would have killed you."

Emma nodded, taking a moment to wonder how Hook knew her thoughts. Probably the same damn way he knew everything else about her (although she still had to figure out exactly which way this was). Still, there was truth in his words.

"I know."

When she didn't move, his voice took on a warning edge.

"She still might if we don't find this damn painting."

Emma nodded again. Now wasn't the time to reflect on her feelings, she knew that, but she wanted to give herself a moment to figure out what exactly it was that she felt. It wasn't guilt, and perhaps that was what worried her. She had killed; shouldn't she be overcome with remorse or regret? Was this any different than killing the dragon? She hadn't felt any remorse over that. The questions and potential guilt nagged at her so that she was unable to focus on anything else, even though she could see an impatient Hook moving towards her.

"How many people have you killed?" Emma asked, the words forming themselves before her mind could protest.

Hook set his jaw. "A lot. Now come, we need to find the painting." He raised his eyebrows when Emma didn't move and then sighed in frustration when he realized she wouldn't until her question was answered properly. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't keep track."

He was emotionless, flippant, but Emma could see that behind his tone there was the tiniest hint of discomfort, maybe even shame.

"Does it get easier?"

"It was never difficult." He was trying his hardest to channel his most ruthless pirate persona, Emma could tell. "I dispatch obstacles in my path, it's as simple as that. I have a lot of blood on my hands." He glanced at his hook and a slightly bitter smile formed. "Metaphorically, of course. Some people deserved it, some didn't, but the fact remains that I have killed before and I am under no illusions that I will not kill again. If this bothers you, perhaps you shouldn't have hitched your wagon to a pirate."

"The pirate hitched his wagon to me," Emma corrected, raising an eyebrow at his soft antagonism. Hook's bitter, sarcastic smile was his only reply. When it became clear that he was not about to further their discussion, she finally voiced something that had been resting at the back of her mind for days.

"Why didn't you kill me? Back at the lake in the Enchanted Forest. I was an _obstacle in your path_."

Hook stilled, and then turned to make slow, deliberate strides over to Emma. His eyes fixed on her in a predatory stare but Emma was not cowed. She was far from prey; as the bodies strewn across the room could attest to, she was a predator too. Hook stopped, using his height as an advantage as he stared intently down at her.

"What makes you think I didn't try?" he asked, his low voice laced with menace.

Emma had thought they were over the passive-aggressive intimidation game but that didn't mean she had forgotten how to play.

"I'm still alive," she said, noting with distant satisfaction that a flicker of surprise passed over his face before he schooled it into obedience. He hadn't expected her to be honest, that much was clear.

"Maybe I was having an off day," Hook said, daring her to believe something he obviously did not believe himself. "Or perhaps I was still recovering from the solitary ten hour trip back down the beanstalk."

_Great, _thought Emma, _we're back to this_. It was a diversion tactic more than anything else and she knew better than to fall for it. She continued to hold his gaze, trying to uncover exactly what it was that had flipped this switch in him. And then - it was there, but just barely, buried deep under cold, distant layers: fear. He was afraid, and not just for himself. Emma blinked, breaking the spell between them.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," she said, stepping backwards and letting him think he had won their latest round. She didn't want to dig any further into why he had such a strong reaction to the thought of her in danger, otherwise she might be forced to consider how she felt about the thought of _him _in danger, and that left a peculiarly hollow feeling in her chest.

"Let's just get this done," Hook said, his eyes darting about the room. "The painting must be close if the sisters were supposed to be its guardians."

"There are…four paintings in this room," Emma said, mainly to herself as she did not doubt the Captain's ability to count. "None of them scream Master of the Undead, though I guess a high collar and fangs would be too much of a giveaway."

"Mother Elena gave us something to detect the painting, yes?"

Emma nodded and reached into her pocket for one of Mother Elena's many supplies.

"Time to use the…" She sighed at the ridiculousness of the words she was about to speak. "_Magic dust_."

She had no idea how this was supposed to indicate where the painting was. She poured the colored dust into her palm and, feeling foolish, upturned it onto the floor. It filtered down and settled on the stone floor. Emma and Hook watched it in its utter stillness.

"We're just creating unnecessary mess for the maid, aren't we?" Hook asked, raising an eyebrow at the failure.

Emma was casting around for new ideas when the dust shifted as though caught in a light breeze.

"Emma-"

"I see it."

They watched as the dust picked up, shifting around slowly but unmistakeably in the direction of one of the paintings. The dust shone brighter as it moved closer, as though caught in a sunbeam that was entirely absent in the room. Emma worried that it might ignite in a spark of red dust but instead its light went out altogether as it settled underneath a painting of a young man sat imperiously in a chair.

"Score one for the magic dust," Emma muttered, hoping Mother Elena was not expecting it back. She wasn't about to get down on her hands and knees and scrape it all back into the vial.

The subject of the painting was beautiful. There was an angelic purity about him, from his blond curls to the serene expression on his face. He was flawless. The longer Emma stared, the more she felt like a sinner looking into the face of a god. Her reverence was ridiculous, she knew somewhere in the back of her mind, and yet…

And yet…

"I take it this is a younger version of the Count?" Hook asked, standing closely at Emma's shoulder.

Emma blinked, shaking herself out of her reverie. It was probably too late to pretend to be taking a scholarly interest in the painting but she made the effort anyway.

"I think so."

"Hm. Handsome lad, isn't he?"

"He's something," Emma agreed, her eyes tracing the curve of Count Dracula's lips.

Hook studied Emma for a few moments before turning back to the painting with a soft, self-deprecating sigh.

"This must be what jealousy feels like."

Emma grinned but did not look away.

"Don't worry, he isn't my type."

"Obscenely handsome isn't your type? Damn. I wish you'd told me that a few days ago, I could have saved myself a lot of trouble."

Emma rolled her eyes and didn't comment. Instead, she nodded at the painting. "So, do we stab this thing or what?"

"Perhaps," Hook said, though he made no move closer towards it.

"What is it?" Emma asked, noticing his hesitation.

"I'm wary of direct contact with enchanted objects," he explained, scanning the painting as though his eyes alone could strip it of any magic. "It doesn't make sense for the painting to be so easily destroyed."

"Easy?" Emma repeated in disbelief. "I think the bodies of the Sisters of the Damned over there would disagree."

Hook didn't seem to hear her. "Do we have any holy water left? It may have the same effect on the painting as it did on the Sisters, and we won't have to touch the painting for it to take effect."

Emma checked the bag and pulled out a small vial. She shook it so that the clear liquid inside swished about. She reminded herself to next time label the objects she was using in vampire slaying.

"This is probably holy water," she said, uncorking the vial and handing it over.

Hook took it with a suspicious glance. "Probably?"

"Yeah. Mother Elena gave us a lot of stuff, there's an equal chance of it being a light refreshment."

Hook raised his eyebrows in a _fair enough _gesture and took three steps back.

"Best stand away," he said. "I'm not entirely sure what will happen."

Emma followed his leave, resisting the sarcastic urge to comment on the dangers of wet paintings, and watched as Hook splashed the potential holy water on the beautiful boy's face.

As soon as the first droplets made contact., the painting began to wither before their eyes. Lines of age and decay marred the smooth skin until it was almost unrecognizable. Sharp teeth poked through the once-soft lips which now thinned and cracked as the skin around them sagged. The effects of age on a human had been intensified on Dracula to the point of hideousness; his life essence may have been clutching on but it was rotten to the core.

"I was right," Emma said after a moment of stunned silence. "Definitely not my type."

* * *

In another part of the castle, Van Helsing, Arthur and Jonathan were stalking further into the stone hallways in the hopes and fears of running into the demon whose death they still had nightmares about. They carried out small talk in small voices so as to distract themselves from the terror that any sane person would be heeding.

"Miss. Swan is a most interesting young woman," Van Helsing murmured, stopping short of anything that could be construed as offensive.

The small group was following Jonathan into the inner sanctum of the castle where he suspected Dracula may be hiding. They carried weapons in shaking hands, afraid for their lives but resolutely refusing to turn back until they had carried out their grave task.

Arthur nodded in agreement with Van Helsing's assessment.

"Hook seems a disreputable chap, though," he said, matching the man's quiet tone.

"I am cautious of trusting anyone with a weapon for a hand," Jonathan agreed, his eyes alert to every shifting shadow. "And that's not to mention his title. Captain? I shudder to think of what vessel."

"He is almost certainly without doubt a pirate," Arthur said, spitting out the final word as though its mere mention would sully his mouth.

"Necessity makes for strange bedfellows," Van Helsing said with faint rebuke. "If they can assist in freeing the town from the Count's curse then their roles outside of this mission does not concern me, nor should it you."

Chastised, Jonathan nodded.

"Well," Arthur muttered under his breath, "he should not expect an invitation to the ball."

Van Helsing pursed his lips. "I am certain he will be crushed."

* * *

"What do we do now?" Emma asked. She was still transfixed by the painting, albeit in a completely different way than before.

"I'm hoping that was the painting's last defense," Hook said, stepping forward for a closer look. "Assuming that the painting can be destroyed in the same way that a vampire can, a stake to the heart should finish the demon off. Care to do the honors, love?"

"You bet," Emma said darkly, her fingers already wrapped around a stake. She hovered the tip of the stake over the centre of the painted heart and then reared her arm back. Summoning up her anger and fear and adrenaline from the last few days, she slammed the stake in.

Dracula's mouth opened in a silent scream, his eyes widening and turning accusingly onto Emma as though he could see her. Emma's fingers stiffened around the stake, stuck fast despite her desperate efforts to unclench them. She tried to pull the stake out but that too was stuck.

"Hook, I can't-"

"I know, I'm working on it."

His voice was taut with a panic that told Emma he had no ideas. As he tore through the bag of weapons for something useful, Emma's face scrunched up with the effort of moving her fingers. It was no use; the painting had one last defense after all.

Flakes of paint fell away as the painting moved inside its frame, one of its withered hands slowly reaching for the embedded stake. Emma watched, horrified, as the other hand reached out from the frame, its paint-flecked talons clutching at the air. When the paint flecked away, it left a space in the artwork. Once all the paint had fallen, Dracula should be defeated. In theory. God, Emma hoped this theory was correct.

Hook threw the bag aside with a frustrated noise and returned to Emma's side, deftly avoiding the outstretched hand whose paint was steadily chipping away and falling to the floor below. With half of his attention on the slow-moving painting, he examined the stake and its position in the Count's chest. He paused, nodded to himself and moved away again.

"Emma, do you trust me?" His voice was quick but not demanding. If her answer was no, he would find another way.

"Tell me your plan," Emma said, far more demanding as she tried to put as much distance between her and the talons.

"I want to splinter the stake with my hook and separate it from the painting."

Temporarily forgetting her panic, Emma turned to stare at him. "There isn't enough room, my hand's in the way."

"There's a small bit of room," Hook corrected, his eyes not leaving hers. "Which is where the trust part comes in."

Emma held his gaze for a few crucial seconds, deliberating. His face was as open as she had ever seen it; he wanted her to see that although he was afraid of hurting her, he believed in his own aim and ability and would not have offered otherwise. Finally, Emma nodded.

Before Hook could begin, she reached out and bunched the leather of his coat underneath her fist.

"If you cut off my hand, I'll replace it with a brick and use it to beat you to death," she warned, earning a flicker of a grin.

"Trust me, darling, my visions of our future together definitely involve you having two hands."

"I trust you." Emma paused. "Not about the vision thing, that was weird and unnecessary. I trust you with sharp things near my skin. Just…don't hurt me."

"Never."

Emma kept her eyes firmly fixed on Dracula's sluggish form. His hand still edged towards the stake in his chest while his other hand slowly retracted back into the frame to assist. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Hook angle his wrist. She winced as metal struck into wood, merely a whisper away from her skin. Dracula began to draw his own hand away, his eyes fixing on Hook in outrage. Paint had crumbled away from most of his face, leaving the backdrop against which he stood perfectly intact. Although he was technically less of a threat, he was more physically terrifying than ever.

"Hold still, sweetheart," Hook said over the dull thud of another strike.

"Really, Hook?" Emma asked through gritted teeth, her fear getting the better of her. "I was going to do a bunch of claps and then wave my hand about in the air but come to think of it, yeah, I probably _should_ hold still. _Idiot_."

Hook grinned as the wood began to splinter under the repeated attacks. "Good, love, focus on that anger. What else annoys you about me?"

"Oh, don't even get me started on this," Emma said, though she wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying and she knew that Hook was focused on the stake. It was a distraction technique, she knew it and embraced it. "Okay, the coat. Leather? Really. You look like you're on your way to a fetish ball."

_Thunk_.

Emma pushed away the fear and took strength from the fact that Dracula was fading fast. She watched as his painted fingers flaked off and fell from the frame. It was like a ripple effect; the more paint chipped away, the faster other areas began to peel. Without taking her eyes away from the painting, she continued her list.

"You named your ship the _Jolly Roger_ and I just can't take that seriously."

_Thunk_.

"You told me that you're always a gentlemen, but every other sentence that comes out of your mouth sounds like something from _Playboy_."

_Thunk_.

"I'm pretty sure that you apply your eyeliner better than I do and it really annoys me."

Hook glanced at her at this comment and offered one of his more devastating smiles.

"It's all in the wrist movement, love." He looked back down towards the stake. "Speaking of, try and snap this off. I've made a dent in it, it might be enough now that the painting's power is fading."

He rolled his shoulder, easing the discomfort of the jarring actions, and kept an eye on the painting as Emma, using both hands, pressed down on the stake as hard as she could. Her hands shook with the effort and splinters pricked at her but with one last large groan the stake cracked and split. It was not a clean break; she had to worry away the strands that were more reluctant to fracture, but after a few more moments the weapon was free from the painting. Emma's grip finally relaxed and half of the broken stake fell from her numb fingers.

She took a wavering step back and watched, tired and relieved, as the last flecks of Dracula disintegrated. She was covered in blood, splinters and the painting of the most famous vampire of them all, but she was one step closer to getting home and back to Henry. It was a victory.

"If you say anything about my wrist movements, I will end you," she warned as Hook stood next to her.

"Thought never so much as crossed my mind, love."

He settled an arm around her shoulders, a casual movement whose implications Emma decided to ignore. They both needed comfort after their ordeal, someone to stand with and be close to while they contemplated how close they had come to death. With a weary sigh, Emma let her head fall sideways into the collar of his coat.

Perhaps, on reflection, fetish ball chic wasn't so bad after all.


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N: I think I left my muse in Montenegro when I took a very short trip there last week. Still, I tried my best with this chapter, it's more talky than actiony but I figure we could all do with a breather after Dracula (: Thank you for your feedback, it is as ever welcomed and appreciated! Any fans of The Borgias here? Come and squee with me over the (completely unrelated) perfection that is Cesare and Lucrezia once you've read the chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Did you slay the demon?" Mother Elena asked, torn between caution and hope.

It might as well have been a rhetorical question. The small group had returned to the gypsy camp blood-spattered and with a weary pride reserved for victors.

"Demon has been slayed," Emma affirmed, before frowning to herself. "Slain? Slain. Demon has been slain."

A roar of celebration went up among the waiting gypsies

"Don't think they care much about grammar, love," Hook murmured in her ear.

She shot him what had to be her first ever _**I**__ care about grammar_ look over her shoulder, all the while conscious of their proximity.

"You have our gratitude," Mother Elena said above the noise, her toothless gums on full display as she smiled widely.

"We have more than that, I hope," Hook said. His smile did not reach his eyes.

Given that the hint carried a weight similar to that of an anvil, Mother Elena did not fail to catch it.

"Yes, of course," she said, graceful despite the Captain's rudeness. "The potion will be ready tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow _morning_?" Emma echoed, dismayed. It was barely evening, much too long to wait for a mother to be reunited with her son. Visions of hugging Henry faded, replaced by another night of uncertainty.

Mother Elena's voice was tinged with an apology. "It takes time to brew enough to transport two people." Her eyes flicked over them. "Perhaps we could wash your clothes for you in the meantime?"

Emma, only vaguely aware that she appeared as though she had taken a shower of blood, almost fell over herself to turn the offer down.

"Oh, no, that's really-"

"Probably a good idea," Hook interrupted, casting Emma an amused look when she scowled at him. "You don't think your lad will be ever so slightly disturbed to see his mother running towards him covered in blood?"

"It's not like it's my blood," Emma muttered, though she cast a dubious glance at the sleeve of her jacket.

"Spectacularly missing the point there, darling."

After a prolonged moment of deliberation, Emma nodded and gave a tight smile of thanks. Might as well at least try to relax now that they were delayed.

"Don't try too hard to find replacement clothing, love," Hook called as Emma was led away to bathe by a young girl.

Emma turned back to scowl at him and he grinned.

* * *

_Leave it to Hook to break out the innuendos in front of a camp full of strangers_, Emma thought, shaking her head. Nineteenth Century strangers to boot, who probably thought that a woman flashing her ankle was the height of scandal. Well, any delicate souls would receive a rude awakening if they happened to be within earshot of the pirate Captain and his unique way of conversing.

She followed her guide in silence as they weaved around the wagons. News of Dracula's downfall had spread quickly throughout the camp given the shouts of celebration ringing through the night that followed the two women as they ventured out towards the forest.

"Don't be frightened," the girl said, glancing back at Emma with a smile. "There is a spring through these trees."

Emma was not frightened. Emma was on edge and cautious of a trap, but not frightened. She stumbled through the dark forest, always keeping an eye on the dim outline of the girl in front of her and praying she wouldn't trip over any roots. After a minute (which seemed far longer in the darkness) lit lanterns appeared in the trees, guiding the way and giving the scene before her a dreamlike, ethereal quality.

Sure enough, the efforts of a distant spring had collected into one small bathing pool. Its black surface reflected the lanterns dangling from the tree above, and though Emma knew she should be suspicious of not being able to see what could lurk beneath, her eagerness to feel refreshed outweighed this.

"The water is warm," the girl assured her, averting her eyes as Emma began to undress.

Emma, who had been the victim of many involuntary cold showers in the past, stared into the water as she noticed for the first time how steam rose from it.

"How warm?" she asked, dubious.

"Mother Elena keeps the temperature steady."

"How does Mother Ele…" Emma trailed off, realizing the foolishness of her own question. "Right. Magic."

Stripped bare, she eased herself into the water with a hiss through clenched teeth. Everything ached and the water scalded.

"I will leave you alone to bathe, my Lady, just beyond these trees," the girl said, hurrying away before Emma could reply.

My Lady. It sounded strange, although in another life Emma would have been called Your Highness. It would be a life so different from her own that she would be Emma in name only; no abandonment issues, no Henry, nothing of what made her who she was. She pondered these things as she soaked, slowly relieving her muscles of their tension and bordering on sleep a dangerous number of times. The water stayed hot, with sorcery or science Emma did not want to know. Just as she was considering making the spring a permanent home, the girl cleared her throat and reappeared next to the spring.

"The women are scrubbing your clothes," she said, carrying a bundle in her arms. She nodded to it. "In the meantime, we offer you these. They are humble, my Lady, but they will keep you warm."

She draped the garments over a low tree branch and Emma could see that 'humble' was an apt description. The white shirt, worn with age, was functional enough but the long skirt would restrict her if she needed to run or fight. Thank God there was no corset among the pile; Hook would have a field day with that.

"I appreciate it," Emma said, ringing out her damp hair into the water which was no doubt filthy with dirt and blood. All of a sudden squeamish, she rose from the water and stepped back onto the grass.

"A blanket," the girl said, holding out said garment. A blush crept up her neck as she tried valiantly to avoid Emma's naked form. "To dry yourself."

Emma covered herself, vaguely amused at the girl's mortification. She felt a distinct lack of shame when it came to the human body, although this would be the last thing on earth she would ever tell Hook. She wondered how much havoc he had caused in the minutes she had been gone and, after drying and dressing at a rapid speed, asked to be taken back to the camp.

* * *

Though he was missing his signature leather, it wasn't difficult to find Hook again. He sat alone on one of the logs arranged around a roaring bonfire, just far enough away to avoid any wayward sparks. Gypsy men and women wandered around him, throwing him many glances but seemingly too in awe to actually approach. For his part, Hook didn't seem to notice or care. He stared down at his hook as it glinted with reflected fire, picking at the tip as though fragments of stake still remained. He looked so pensive that Emma almost didn't want to interrupt him, but her feet carried her over regardless.

Hook looked up as she approached, taking in her new attire.

"I see you found some clothes," he said, his eyes lingering.

"A sad day for perverts everywhere," Emma rejoined.

Hook shuffled along the log, leaving a wide space ready to be occupied. His unspoken request was clear: _sit with me_. Emma complied, too weary to remind him of his manners. She may have sat a little closer than was strictly necessary, just to stay warm (as though the roaring bonfire in front of them was not already accomplishing that task admirably. Still, she felt like she needed an excuse). She felt Hook's eyes on her and twisted around to face him.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, though something had clearly amused him. "Just…Emma Swan the peasant. Hm."

Emma raised an eyebrow. The clothes she had been offered were humble, yes. They were too tight in some places and too loose in others and nothing she would ever pick out for herself, but they had been offered in the spirit of generosity and Emma didn't like to see that ridiculed. Seeing Hook in something other than his pirate regalia was a new and interesting experience, something she might be tempted to make fun in different circumstances. Yet he was still a pirate by nature if not by uniform; there existed an air of power around him, a latent threat that warned he was not to be trifled with regardless of his underwhelming attire.

"You've adopted the peasant look yourself," Emma said, half-lying. " Besides," she added with a self-conscious tug on her sleeve, "it's just until my regular clothes dry. Think vampire blood is harder to get out than normal blood?"

"I'd wager it leaves one hell of a stain," Hook said, lifting a tankard that had been resting by his feet. "Drink?"

"Sure." She took the tankard and raised it to her lips, taking a gulp of whatever fiery liquid was inside it.

"Don't you want to know what it is?" Hook asked, amused.

"Don't care," Emma answered. She took another, less ambitious draught and then handed the tankard back. "Thanks."

Hook took a drink of his own before glancing across the bonfire where Van Helsing, Jonathan and Arthur sat. Van Helsing seemed perfectly at ease but the other men sat on the edge of the log as though they were preparing to flee at any moment.

"We all need a drink after the day's exploits," Hook said, raising the tankard in a salute which Van Helsing happily reciprocated.

"Either that or a reality check," Emma muttered.

"Reality? What a concept."

A smile touched Emma's lips. Perhaps reality had no place in a conversation with Captain Hook or in the presence of an increasingly merry Van Helsing.

"Look at them." There was a weary affection in her voice that she hadn't expected. "In a few days they'll be back in England like none of this ever happened."

Hook's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "You envy them?"

His genuine lack of understanding was evident, as though it had never even crossed his mind that these men were people to model oneself after.

Emma shrugged. "I guess. They get to go back home to their uncomplicated lives."

Hook's laugh was unkind. "Of all the synonyms for 'boring', 'uncomplicated' is by far the kindest." At the face Emma pulled, he gave another derisive laugh. "Come on, lass, you don't want _uncomplicated_." He spat the word out like its mere presence was a poison on his tongue. "You want adventure and passion. You want danger to spike your blood and make your heart pump faster. You want…"

He trailed off, almost hoping that Emma would finish his sentence and clue him in to the inner workings of her mind. Emma drew in a small breath but didn't speak, and the thought occurred to Hook that he was in the perfect position to kiss her. It would take the slightest shift, and gods knew he wanted to, but he held back and waited for her to make the move. He had this stupid idea stuck in his head that if _she_ kissed _him_ rather than the other way around, it would prove that she was genuinely interested and genuinely attracted to him rather than simply succumbing to his (considerable) charms.

It was with disappointment but not surprise when she moved, almost imperceptibly, away.

"That pretty face is going to get you into trouble," she said, a rueful grin hiding how close she almost came to leaning in.

"I'm already in trouble."

Emma frowned. "We've just defeated Dracula and we haven't found the next obstacle yet…if anything we're _between_ trouble."

"That wasn't what I meant."

The low insinuation was not lost on Emma. Her smile was almost cautious.

"I don't want trouble," she said in her best Sheriff voice. "At least," she amended, "not until we've found the way back to Henry."

Hood nodded with an air of infinite patience that was only half-mocking. _One day, but not now._ He could deal with that. One of the many (_many_) things he was good at was waiting.

"What about your lad, does he want an uncomplicated life?"

"No, he wants to be a hero." Emma's smile slipped. "And one day I'm going to have to let him."

"We all have to let go of our children at some point, love." Emma shot him a curious glance and he shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "I would imagine."

The corners of Emma's mouth turned downwards. "But I've only just found him."

Hook had no words of comfort to offer. He was well-practiced in losing those he loved, and yet he didn't know how to reassure and console. How could he promise that it would get better when here he was, three hundred years later, still in pain? He lifted his tankard, took a drink and then passed it wordlessly to Emma.

They lapsed into silence, taking in the atmosphere around them. Lively celebrations had struck up, with whooping and laughing and singing breaking out spontaneously. Men juggled and women danced and dogs ran around joyfully, yet through all this Hook's interest remained fixed on the woman beside him.

Emma was beautiful in the firelight. She garnered many admiring glances from the young gypsy men, though none of them were brave enough to ask her to dance. Hook could pretend that it was down to him looking manly and intimidating and putting off any potential suitors, but in honesty Emma exuded a warning to anyone who wanted to get close to her. Her smiles were almost always accompanied by a guarded film over her eyes and she turned down advances barely a moment after they were intimated. Genuine smiles were given as a reward more valuable than gold, silent praise for breaking through her walls long enough for unregulated amusement. Hook coveted those smiles.

Later, as the night swallowed all but the bonfire's light, the gypsies gathered around and told their guests stories of the lands they had traveled to and the monsters they had found there. Emma listened, her wide eyes lending her a childlike innocence that Hook had never seen from her before. She loved stories, this one.

Hook did not speak, afraid of breaking the spell of wonder that had overtaken Emma, but soon enough her trance was interrupted by the arrival of food. Emma accepted the stew with a grateful smile towards the gypsy man who delivered it. The man bowed his head in acknowledgement and, after giving Hook a bowl, left without a word.

"Chatty bunch," Hook commented dryly, balancing the hot bowl in his lap and waiting for it to cool.

"Back home, there's a book about Dracula," Emma said, letting surplus soup drip over the edges of the spoon and back into her bowl. "I wish there had been more in it about these guys, about their kindness. A story that dark should have heroes."

She took a sip of the stew. It was thick enough to coat her lips and it was hotter than hell but it tasted good. Her tongue flicked out to lick what remained on her burning mouth. She would wait for it to cool before trying again.

"What about the men who defeated the Count?" Hook asked, his own stew untouched. "Aren't they heroes?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah, but those guys are three in a million. Stories need more everyday heroes. Good, decent people who can't swordfight but can still make a difference." Her eyes swept the clearing, around the laughing men and the women admonishing them for sneaking tastes of their food before it was ready. Emma found herself smiling. "Mother Elena could have just sent us away and told us to come back in the morning, but instead she opened her home to us."

Hook's eyes stayed on her, slightly narrowed in thought as he discovered more pieces of the puzzle that was Emma Swan.

"No everyday heroes in your world, I take it?" he asked, bringing her attention back to him.

Emma thought about the adoptive parents who had sent her back into the system, about Neal who had betrayed her, about her own thieving ways.

"No," she said with a shake of her head, her smile fading. "Not many."

Hook nodded as though he had expected that answer. They fell into silence, the singing and loud conversations around them filling the air. Emma's thoughts were with Henry, promising herself for the thousandth time that she would be a better person in the name of her son. One day she might have to tell him the truth about her past, but she wouldn't do it until he could no longer reconcile seventeen year old delinquent Emma with older, more mature Emma.

"What was the book like?" Hook asked after a moment. At Emma's questioning look, he elaborated: "The one about Dracula."

"Long." Emma blew on the stew again and took another gulp. "But it's got a lot of movie adaptations."

"Movie?"

"Yeah, uh…" Emma tried the best way to describe something that had always been a part of her world. "Moving pictures with sound."

Hook considered this for a moment. "That seems terrifying."

Emma had read somewhere about the curiosity and the terror that faced the first people who had witnessed a rudimentary movie and grinned at the thought of Hook's own reaction.

"There's more than one movie about you."

Hook frowned, clearly trying to decide whether he liked this new piece of information.

"I didn't know my notoriety was quite so widespread," he settled on saying.

Emma shrugged. "My world writes stories about the people who live in your world. Kids grow up reading about the heroic Peter Pan and his nemesis Captain Hook."

Emma expected fascination or smugness from Hook when he discovered he was infamous. Instead, he gave the tiniest scoff and stared inscrutably down into his stew.

"_Pan_ is the hero of the tale? Interesting choice of characterization."

"Oh, come on," Emma said with a laugh. "I know Peter Pan is annoying and all but you can't call him a _villain_. He spends his days running through the forest with a singing group of Lost Boys…I think the worst thing he did in the movie was steal your hat, which it turns out you don't even have!"

Hook did not smile or sulk, the two reactions Emma expected to rise from her teasing. Instead, he stared into the flames of the bonfire.

"Tell me something, darling. When you were left alone by your parents, did you go on merry hunting trips and sing the day away?"

Emma was taken aback by the quiet intensity in his voice. It sobered her.

"No, of course not."

Hook looked up at her, his face grim and more serious than she had yet seen it.

"Then what would make you suspect the same of the Lost Boys? They have all the pain of being abandoned but they lack the capacity to understand why. The hurt festers in them and becomes anger. Time turns anger into darkness, and unfortunately for the Lost Boys, time is all they possess." A memory flashed through his eyes and he looked away. "They have black hearts, and don't let any jaunty children's story tell you differently."

It was a low admonishment, telling of his disgust that the storybooks could have twisted the tale into something so unrecognizable from the horrors he witnessed in Neverland. Emma was silent as she thought through all the implications of this new knowledge. She was almost afraid to ask her next question, but curiosity burned.

"And Peter Pan?"

Hook's serious gaze dropped back down into his bowl of stew. When he spoke, he spoke through barely moving lips.

"Pan _has_ no heart, blackened or otherwise. The Lost Boys inflict pain because they enjoy the knowledge that it's wrong. Theirs are the deeds of naughty children. But Pan…Pan has no understanding of morality. He doesn't grasp the concept of right and wrong, he simply acts on impulse. He is completely innocent, and that makes him the most dangerous thing in Neverland."

The idea made Emma uneasy. A sociopathic Peter Pan? That sure as hell hadn't been in the Disney movie. Was anything the same way it was in the stories Emma knew?

"So you're the hero?" she asked, trying to wrap her head around it.

Hook attempted a smile that was more of a grimace. "I didn't say that, love. I'm as bad as Pan, if not worse."

"How can you be worse?" Emma asked with a frown. "You have a heart."

"And yet I still do terrible things."

Emma opened her mouth to speak and Hook quirked an eyebrow, daring her to tell him otherwise. She couldn't deny his more-than-unfortunate choices but she wanted to soothe some of the self-loathing in him.

"You do good things, too," she said, a tentative half-smile on her lips as she remembered the way he fought to separate her from the painting. "You're not as bad as you think you are."

His eyes searched hers, looking for (and expecting to find) signs that she was placating him, that she didn't really believe what she was saying. He was met with sincerity and warmth.

"You could have left me with that painting," she continued, firmer now that she saw his uncertainty. "We'd already defeated it, it was just taking its time to chip away. You could have left me stuck there to face whatever would've happened, but you helped. You risked your own safety to help me."

The words were a deliberate echo of his pleading words to her on top of the beanstalk, only now she understood the weight behind them and trusted their truth. Hook still tried to fight against the hope being instilled in him.

"Anyone would have done that."

"Anyone? Cora? Regina? Rumplestiltskin? No." Emma reached out a hand and placed it gently under his chin, lifting it up so that he would meet her eyes. "You're different from them. You're better."

The last of his resistance melted away and his eyes softened.

"Careful, love," he said, his voice somewhat hoarse. "You're starting to make me believe that I could be."

* * *

**A/N: Don't kill me for lack of kiss, there's a reason. Next chapter we are outta Transylvania and into [spoiler]!**


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, nor am I affiliated with Adam Horowitz or Eddy Kitsis. Title of the story is taken from a song by Carina Round. For the hat-trick of things I do not own, see basically everything.**

* * *

**A/N: I feel it necessary to say I was not on drugs when I wrote this, it just came out weird. I haven't had time to proof read, apologies for any mistakes. Thank you for your feedback, you are an amazing bunch! Chapter is dedicated to my beautiful Riv. Enjoy the chapter everyone!**

* * *

Emma was hard-pressed to remember if she had ever woken up anywhere stranger than a gypsy camp in 1800s Transylvania. She had once stayed overnight in a motel on the outskirts of Vegas that had been a little funky, although that was now a distant second place.

She had slept under the stars last night, swathed in blankets and surrounded by the gypsies who hadn't managed it back to their tents after the night before. She wasn't sure where Hook had slept.

It couldn't have been long since sunrise and yet the camp around her seemed to have been awake for hours. Men chopped wood and swapped jokes in a tongue Emma didn't understand, while the women and children attended to the morning chores of washing and cooking breakfast. Emma briefly considered introducing the notion of feminism to the camp, before deciding that it was too early (several decades too early).

"Good morning, sunshine!"

Emma groaned and squinted up. Hook stood over her, dressed once more in his pirate regalia and seeming far too bright considering the time.

"I forgot you're a morning person," she muttered, her throat dry.

"I'm an any time of day person," Hook said with a shrug. Without preamble he sat himself down next to Emma and handed her a flask.

"Unless this is coffee I don't want it," she said, refusing to lift her arms from under the blankets. She was nice and warm now but willing to bet that the morning air was chilly.

"It's water," Hook said, screwing the lid off and offering it again. "We've got a busy day ahead of us, I recommend getting a start now."

Emma considered this. "Okay, but can 'now' be in like ten minutes?"

Hook grinned. He was unused to the tired, slightly pathetic Emma that morning always brought but he found it - and her - quite endearing. Besides, it put her entirely at his mercy.

"I will give you ten seconds," he announced, beginning to tip the flask precariously over her face. "After which, you'll be taking an impromptu bath."

"Try it and you'll be taking an impromptu death," Emma warned, eyeing the flask warily.

"Threatening one who's trying to be kind? Five seconds."

Emma held out for two more seconds before throwing the blankets off. "Fine! I'm up!"

Hook grinned, victorious. "Knew it'd work. I've had plenty of practice coaxing women out of my bed. Once they're in it, they never seem to want to leave."

Unable to think of an appropriate comeback, Emma snatched the flask from him with a "gimme that" and a glare. While Hook chuckled, she took a drink.

"So, our clothes are dry?" she asked when she had finished.

"Mine are. Yours, alas, were torn apart by wild dogs-"

"And now I'll have to walk around naked," Emma finished with a roll of her eyes. "Come on, Hook, if you're always this desperate then I don't see how you get women into your bed in the first place."

Hook raised an eyebrow, enjoying the challenge.

"Lie back down and I'll show you."

Emma stood up slowly, raised an eyebrow of her own and then walked off to find Mother Elena to check that her clothes were still intact.

"Thank you," she said, more grateful than she realised when a young girl handed her the neatly folded clothes a few minutes later.

They smelled of fresh air and something exotic, a spice perhaps although Emma couldn't pinpoint it. She breathed in the scent as she lowered the tank top over her head and then pulled her jacket on. She felt more in control of the situation now that she was dressed as herself again. No more distractions and no more weird fairytale crap unless it was Storybrooke-related.

She strode out of the tent filled with purpose and meaning. She was going to get back to Storybrooke, hug Henry until he was all hugged out and then find a way to get Mary Margaret back if she wasn't already. When Mother Elena approached her with the potion, Emma was more than ready to take it.

"Pour this in a circle large enough to fit the both of you," Mother Elena instructed, pressing the vial firmly into Emma's palm. "Step into the circle and find some way to connect yourselves."

"Don't even," Emma warned as Hook opened his mouth. Hook smirked but swallowed whatever he had been about to say.

"Hand-holding will suffice," Mother Elena continued, as though there had been no interruption. "Transporting two people is always a tricky business and you must try not to get separated." At Emma's nod, the old woman relaxed. "The potion will take you where you need to go. It will be as though you are in the center of a hurricane, though you will come to no harm within it."

"Hurricane?" Emma repeated, holding the bottle tightly.

"No harm," Mother Elena said with a smile. "Indulge an old woman in her craft."

They didn't really have that much of a choice, not that Emma voiced this concern. Instead she smiled back and embraced her.

"Thank you for freeing us," Mother Elena said. She held Emma in place as she whispered, "You can trust him," and then released her as though nothing had been said. While Emma was left to consider the whisper, Mother Elena moved on to the other companion.

"Crone," Hook acknowledged with a nod.

"Pirate," Mother Elena replied, the corners of her thin lips lifting.

"Pirate _Captain_," Hook corrected, although there was none of the antagonism of their earlier meetings. The pair were simply coming to the end of a mutually beneficial arrangement and there was no further need for pleasantries.

"If you find my Carolina," Mother Elena called after them as they walked into the forest, "please send her back to me."

"We will," Emma said, although it seemed that Carolina belonged to Mother Elena's fraying imagination. "I am so ready to get out of here," she muttered to Hook.

They walked for barely a minute, unwilling to go too far into the forest where the trees were clustered tightly together, and found a suitable space.

"Why do I get the feeling we might accidentally uproot the entire forest?" Hook asked as Emma poured out the potion. It soaked into the dirt but left a dim shine behind, indicating where they should stand.

Emma didn't reply, not wanting to acknowledge something she was also concerned about, and gestured for Hook to stand opposite her in the circle. She held out her hand, daring Hook to say something about other ways they could connect to each other, but he merely grinned at her and took her hand.

"Hold onto my shoulder," he said, stepping closer towards her.

"Why?"

"The trip might get bumpy and I don't want to accidentally slice your fingers off," he said, lifting his hook and adopting a sincere expression.

A low rumble started at their feet. Stray leaves and twigs quivered on the ground as dirt began to pick up around them. Emma quickly reached out for Hook's shoulder, feeling the cool leather on her palm.

"This is it, love!" Hook called as a whirlwind formed around them, whipping Emma's hair in every direction.

They both closed their eyes in anticipation of pain, although as Mother Elena had said the hurricane did not touch them and they felt only the lightest of breezes on their faces. The wind roared around them and Emma did not want to think what was going on outside of their cocoon. The ground underneath them shifted so that the pair nearly stumbled into each other, though they managed to maintain their balance. Emma silently thanked Hook for suggesting she hold onto his shoulder as the leather bunched under her tightened grip.

After only a few seconds more the hurricane died down and Emma opened her eyes expectantly. Hook raised his eyebrows, silently asking if she was alright, and Emma smiled in confirmation. Her smile faltered as she looked around. Tiny houses were dotted around, looking more like overgrown mushrooms than actual buildings. Vines clambered around the walls and onto the slanted roofs where flowers of bright yellow and green bloomed. Small faces peered through the windows of the houses and high-pitched whispers could be heard around. A platform that hosted a sparkling water feature took pride of place in the town square while patches of flowers and greenery popped up sporadically around it. Winding through the small town was a road made of yellow brick.

Emma made a low growl in the back of her throat. "You are _kidding_ me!" She snatched her hand out of Hook's and twisted around wildly. "Hey!" she shouted to nowhere in particular, her head moving this way and that. "You sent us to the wrong place!"

Her voice faded in the town centre until only the tiny voices could be heard, whispering and tittering amongst themselves. Her heart slamming in her chest, Emma continued to dart her eyes around as though there was another portal nearby that would close at any moment.

"Emma, love…"

Hook approached her as carefully as if she was a lion (or tiger, or bear) that would turn on him. He paused as doors opened and small men and women came flooding out of the buildings. They pressed themselves against the outside walls of their homes, eager to see the newcomers but afraid to go near them. Curious about them but sensing that they were not a threat, Hook turned his attention back to Emma. She stared at the ground in a mixture of anger and desolation.

"Emma…"

He placed a gentle finger under her chin and lifted it so that she would look at him. He wished she could feel the warmth of another hand on her shoulder rather than the cold metal of his hook.

"We're not home," Emma murmured, entirely unnecessarily at this point.

"I know," Hook said, glancing around at the peculiar settlement. "We _will_ find a way out of this place, but I need you to focus."

Emma looked at him and, fuelled by the belief in his eyes, crumpled up her sadness and despair and shoved it into the back of her mind. She would not fall apart at this latest set-back, even if thwarted hope was a punch to her stomach. She took a deep breath and nodded. She was no good to anyone if she was a crying heap on the floor.

"That's my girl," Hook said, smiling. Before Emma could question this, he withdrew his hand from her chin. "Any idea where we are?"

Emma nodded. "Oz."

"Oz?"

"As in the Merry Old Land Of."

To say Hook was unfamiliar would have been an understatement. His black clothes ensured that he already stuck out against the almost violent brightness of the town but coupled with the frown on his face and the way he absentmindedly reached for his sword it was clear that he was far removed from any semblance of understanding.

Meanwhile the Munchkins began to edge closer to the pair. The chubby men and women wore elaborate clothes and hats that gave them the illusion of added height, though most of them barely came up to Emma's waist. Emma was about to speak out to them when they pointed in unison to a spot over Emma's head. Their excited squealing grated on Emma's ears as she and Hook turned around.

"Is that a…?"

"Bubble," Emma confirmed, trying to remember _The Wizard of Oz_ in order to avoid unpleasant surprises. "It's okay, this is in the story."

"What story?" Hook asked, his attention now on Emma. She did not reply; showing would be easier than telling.

The bubble drifted downwards and paused mid-air. After a second of stillness it dissolved into a shower of light and out stepped a woman whose dress Marie Antoinette would have deemed a little over the top. Amber ringlets fell down to her chest, framing a dainty, heart-shaped face. Her lips, painted a soft shade of pink, opened as she spoke to comfort the Munchkins.

"That dress is bigger than my cabin on the Jolly Roger," Hook said as the witch murmured assurances.

"Don't be jealous, we'll find you a dress that's just as pretty," Emma promised, earning a glare from the Captain that quickly turned into a smirk.

"I would be very intrigued to see what _you_ look like in a dress like that. I do so enjoy roleplay."

"Great. You be the pirate and I'll be the woman trying not to strangle you in your sleep."

"Trust me, love, we wouldn't be sleeping."

The low tones in which they spoke could be considered intimate to an outsider and Emma was vaguely concerned with corrupting the Munchkins' minds. She watched as Glinda - _who else could it be?_ - set the small creatures at ease and then straightened up with a curious look at the newcomers. With an entourage of Munchkins hiding behind her skirts (_God knows there's enough room_, thought Emma), she stepped forward. The movement, coupled with the elegant position of her arms, made it appear as though she was dancing.

"Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?" she asked Emma, her voice as light as glass.

Hook cut in before Emma could answer.

"Depends what kind of mood she's in, really." At Emma's glare, he quirked an eyebrow. "Bad witch, it would seem."

"I'm not a witch at all," Emma corrected before the Munchkins could panic. "I'm human, like Dorothy. Do you remember Dorothy?"

Glinda pouted her lips, furrowed her brow and tilted her head in an over-exaggerated _this is what I look like when I think _pose. Emma got the impression that the witch was always this theatrical, and mentally calculated how long she could put up with it before that pretty little wand in her gloved hand was getting snapped over Emma's knee.

"Don't force a headache on our account, love," Hook said, watching the witch with a bemused expression.

Emma decided to take a more helpful approach. "You know, Dorothy…she was from Kansas, she had a dog." She cast around for more defining features. "Uh, 'There's no place like home'?"

For Glinda, realization came in the form of a broad smile and hands clasped across her chest. Given the intricate details of her bodice, her fingers had to settle for resting two inches away from her skin.

"Dorothy!" the good witch beamed. "Oh, how is she?

"She's doing great," Emma said quickly, wanting to avoid discussions of a girl she didn't know. "You helped her get home. Can you help us?"

Glinda's smile did not waver. "You would need to see the Wizard."

Emma nodded. She had figured this almost the moment she realized where they were, but another day-long quest was not something she wished for. Hook, meanwhile, frowned.

"The who?"

"The Wizard," one of the Munchkins chipped in, peering from around Glinda's skirts. At Hook's continued blank look, the strange creature's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Why, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz! You'll find he is a whiz of a Wiz, if ever a Wiz there was!"

Hook stared, completely nonplussed by the alliterative turn in conversation. To see the Captain so far out of his comfort zone would have been amusing in any other situation, but Emma was already far past any notions of humor.

"Can you not just find us a couple of pairs of ruby slippers?" she asked Glinda, who was staring fondly at the Munchkins.

"Hm?" she asked, turning her wide eyes to Emma. "Ah, the ruby slippers. They're for decorative purposes now only, I'm afraid. Dorothy's legacy demands that no one but her shall ever wear them again."

"But they're here in Oz?" Emma asked, brushing Dorothy's legacy aside.

"Yes, in the Emerald City," Glinda said with an oblivious smile. "When the new Wizard took over from the previous Wizard, he decided to commemorate the death of the Wicked Witch of the West by forever preserving the ruby slippers."

Emma nodded, a plan already forming. "Say I wanted to go and appreciate them. Where would they be?"

"Oh, no one except the Wizard knows where they are," Glinda said brightly.

"Of course," Hook muttered as Emma closed her eyes in frustration. "It'd be too simple otherwise, wouldn't it?"

"So he preserves them where no one else can see them?" Emma asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow. "Sure he doesn't just slip them on in private when he wants to feel pretty?"

Glinda's lips twitched into the smile of one who did not understand. Oz probably wasn't the right place for a cross-dressing joke, Emma decided.

"I wish you luck on your journey," Glinda said, reaching out a hand as though she would caress Emma's cheek if she was close enough.

The hand dropped downwards and shoots of light sprouted at her feet, climbing over each other to conceal her in a bubble. The Munchkins practically fell over themselves waving farewell, almost drowning out Emma's protests that she still had questions.

"Great," Emma said, shaking her head as the witch's transport faded from view. "We're taking advice from a bubble."

"But not directions," Hook said, glancing thoughtfully around. "The witch mentioned Emerald City and the Wizard but not how to reach either of them. How do we find the Wiz-"

"Don't ask that," Emma interrupted, but it was too late.

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road!" one Munchkin piped up, her unnaturally high voice propelled even higher in eagerness.

Hook's attention was captured downwards.

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road," another advised.

Hook nodded. He was trying his best to take this in his stride. "Alright. Where-"

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road!"

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road."

Hook frowned at the surrounding Munchkins. "I would gladly, if you would only-"

"_Follow the Yellow Brick Road_, _follow the Yellow Brick Road_, _follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the Yellow Brick Road!_"

Synchronized harmonies broke out across the town, high enough in parts to break glass. The Munchkins waved their arms and danced, twirling around each other in such obvious glee that Emma almost felt bad for the sheer level of unimpressed she was. Hook, it seemed, was torn between bewilderment and fear.

"Emma, they're singing."

"Yep."

"We're leaving."

"Yep." Emma gestured down. "Hook, meet the imaginatively named Yellow Brick Road."

Hook followed Emma's signal. If he was surprised to have been standing on it all along, he didn't show it. "Ah, yes. I didn't quite catch what we're supposed to do next…"

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road!" a Munchkin chipped in helpfully, breaking his song.

"It was sarcasm," Hook snapped, rounding on the creature.

"You really think they understand sarcasm?" Emma asked with a frown. "Come on, let's just go."

Hook complied, but only after adding Tiny Singing Man to his list of enemies. The Munchkins bordered the edge of the Road, clapping in time with their song. Their voices were too high-pitched to block out, as much as Emma and Hook tried.

"Are they going to do this all the way to the Emerald City?" Hook asked through gritted teeth, one cadence away from mass Munchkin murder.

"Just be glad they didn't have the time to bring out the marching band," Emma said, keeping her eyes fixed on the edge of the Munchkin town where they would leave their unwanted escort.

The pair trudged down the fabled Road with none of the wonder or sense of whimsy that previous travelers had felt. If anyone had asked the Munchkins to describe the couple, they may have been tempted to say "fed up", "annoyed" or even "miserable", except none of these occurred in the little Munchkin brains as being possible. After all, surely everyone was happy on the Yellow Brick Road?

* * *

It wasn't long before the decidedly unhappy Hook and Emma were met with a fork in the path.

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road," Hook muttered, peering down both roads which were identical in everything except direction. "Whose bright sodding idea was that?"

Emma's eyes wavered over the green fields which separated the roads. Though her face was expressionless, despair clawed at her chest. Another obstacle. A further delay which might cost her the chance of seeing her son. How safe was Henry from Regina? The Evil Queen would never hurt her son but she probably wasn't above using magic on him to make him forget things. Would Henry even remember Emma when she finally saw him again? And if Cora had somehow found a way back to Storybrooke…it didn't even bear thinking about. David couldn't fend off Regina by himself, let alone Cora, and if Rumplestiltskin had decided that it was in his favor to side with Regina then there might not even be a Storybrooke to go back to. Hopelessness was a weight on her chest, telling her that there was no point even bothering anymore.

"Go left," Emma said.

Hook turned to face her, perturbed by her listlessness. "Why?"

"Why not? It's not like we're going to get back anyway."

"Mother Elena said that the potion would transport us to where we needed to be." Hook shrugged, trying to find something that would comfort Emma. "Maybe we need to be here?"

The idea that more expectations had been placed on Emma was enough to snap her out of her moroseness and drive her into anger.

"No! I need to be back with _my son_, not hanging out with the goddamn Lollipop Guild!"

Tears of anger and frustration blurred her vision. She swiped at her eyes, determined not to cry in front of Hook. She was barely holding herself back as it was; she felt that one single tear would be all it took to break her completely.

"I won't give up," she said, reminding herself as much as Hook. "I _can't_ give up, but I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this! Every time I think I've found the way home there's _one more thing_ that turns into three more things and suddenly I'm in a different realm and still no closer to my son!"

Hook had never seen Emma so lost. For his own part, he felt equally helpless. He didn't know what to say to reassure her, didn't know if there was anything he _could_ say. He had always been a big believer in fighting his way out a problem, and it had been many, many years since he had comforted a mother missing her son. He remembered holding Milah as she sobbed into his chest, whispering that she would return for Bae in a promise that never held weight in the light of morning.

"Emma, love, it'll be-"

"Don't you _dare _say 'okay'," Emma warned, taking a step away from him. "Things are so very far from okay! Henry is with Regina, Mary Margaret is with Cora and I'm here with _you_. You're the reason we're stuck here in the first place! If you hadn't fallen into that portal, I would be with Henry right now."

Her words, harsh and insidious and true, gave him pause. She didn't want to be held, she wanted to fight. While Hook had more than enjoyed their past spars, this was no time to get into another. They needed to conserve their energy for something more productive, even if that productivity only involved following a road.

"I understand that you're disappointed," he said slowly, "but you need to keep it together. You're not alone in this. You have me."

"Right," Emma scoffed with false amusement. "Three hundred years and still no success. You're the last person who'll be able to help."

The accusation hung in the air.

_Walk away_, Hook thought to himself even as his jaw tightened. _She's just upset. _He had killed men for less. _Just walk away. _Bloody ungrateful woman. The amount of times he could have double-crossed her by now. What, had she thought she was being cautious? _Give her some time to calm down_. If he had desired it, she wouldn't have even made it out of Wonderland.

"Your gratitude is, as ever, fully appreciated," he said, choosing an icy tone over hot-headed lashing out. "You take the left path and I will take the right, we'll see who reaches the Emerald City first. As you so rightly pointed out, I'm due a victory."

Hook began the descent down the path without another word. He had pegged Emma as many things, but never cruel.

* * *

Emma watched him go, refusing to acknowledge the guilt that was rising in the wake of her outburst. She had lashed out, yes, but at someone who deserved it. There had been nothing but truth in her attack. Was it her fault if Hook couldn't handle it?

Each step down the left path brought with it a new justification as to why she was right. She wasn't sure she actually believed any of them, but righteous indignation was a better fuel than hopelessness. She practically marched down the Road, only pausing for thought when another crossroad split the bricks apart. She hated to admit it but Hook would have made this journey bearable. More than bearable, he would have made it fun. Still, she was alone now and determined to get to the Emerald City first.

She was casting around for any clues as to which way to go when a figure in the fenced-off field, hanging on crossed wooden poles and dressed in shabby clothes, caught her eye. After an initial panicked thought that someone had strung a man up, Emma realized that she was in the presence of one of Oz's most famous residents. The Scarecrow. Emma grinned, partly at the absurdity of the encounter but mostly because now she had a guide. A guide who currently appeared to be asleep, but a guide nonetheless.

"How did you get back up there?" Emma murmured, approaching the strung up Scarecrow.

He hung limply, not acknowledging her presence. Well, she would just have to wake him up.

"Hey, uh, Scarecrow." She couldn't remember if his name had been given in _The Wizard of Oz_, or if he even had a name. "I need your help. You once helped Dorothy, remember?"

The Scarecrow's head snapped upwards, making Emma jump. He stiffened to attention, becoming taut against the pole to which he was strapped."Dorothy. Greek. Literally translated as "gift of god" from _doron_ and _theos_, has many alternates such as 'Dorothea' or the reversed 'Theodora'."

Once the last carefully-enunciated syllable had left his lips, he slackened again.

"I…" Emma paused, utterly bemused. She decided to just accept it. "Right. Well, I'm Emma-"

The wooden poles creaked as the Scarecrow's weight lifted."Emma. German. From 'Erma', contraction of 'Ermentrude'."

"Yeah, that…that's probably true." _What the hell is going on_? "Listen, there are two roads here and I don't know which one will get me to where I need to be. Do you know where they go?"

"_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by_. "The Road Not Taken", Robert Frost, 1916."

Emma shrugged, now lost in more ways than one. "Okay, well, unless you measure the foot traffic around here then that isn't all that helpful."

She half-expected the Scarecrow to reel off traffic statistics but he stayed silent. Where was the brave and clumsy Scarecrow from the stories? The one who had befriended and protected Dorothy? _That_ was the help she needed, not an overstuffed bag filled with dictionary pages instead of hay.

Emma kicked the fence in frustration. There was no reaction from the Scarecrow (or from the fence, for that matter, although Emma's toes now hurt something fierce).

"The movie left out this fun little character trait," Emma muttered, throwing a murderous glance at the limp Scarecrow. "Probably because they knew it would be _really annoying_. I thought the Wizard was supposed to have given you a…brain…" She trailed off with a spark of realization and stepped forward, noting how the Scarecrow's head lifted and his eyes turned to her. Expressionless, they matched the impassivity of the rest of his face. Emma's voice turned soft and sad. "The Wizard gave you a brain. What happened to make it backfire so much?"

"The Wizard of Oz is the most powerful magician in the realm, outstripping the power of the Wicked Witch of the West and her various creations," the Scarecrow said, and although his words were still in the monotone of his previous statements, Emma understood that he was actually trying to tell her something.

"Outstripping the power," Emma repeated, trying to make sense of it. Her eyes snapped up to the Scarecrow. "You were one of the Wicked Witch of the West's creations, everything except your brain which the Wizard gave to you. But his magic is more powerful than hers…so, what, your brain is more powerful than the rest of you?"

Emma didn't understand. Surely the brain was the most powerful part of anyone? Yet she wasn't going around spouting knowledge like she was competing on a game show.

"'_If we value the pursuit of knowledge, we must be free to follow wherever that search may lead us_'. Spoken byAdlai E. Stevenson Jr_._"

Was it just Emma, or was the Scarecrow becoming more insistent? Emma cast her mind back to the movie in the context of knowledge. The Scarecrow wanted a brain. He literally made a song and dance about it. He went on a journey and the Wizard gave him a brain. What was Emma missing? She thought over the quote the Scarecrow had just given her.

"You wanted a brain so that you could have knowledge," she said slowly. "But the Wizard gave you a brain so powerful that it replaced all the other magic in you. Now you're nothing _but_ knowledge. Is that right?"

"'_The chief function of the body is to carry the brain around_'. Quoted by Thomas Edison. On average, the human brain weighs three pounds and makes up two percent of the body's total weight."

Emma barely heard him. How soon after he received his brain had this happened? Days, weeks, months? It was horribly ironic. She knew how it felt to finally get the one thing you'd always wanted only for it to turn around and bite you. Or leave you, in her case.

"Did this happen to the others as well?" she asked, wondering how much of the story she knew had been twisted. "The Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion?"

The Scarecrow showed no signs of recognition.

"Lions are indigenous to sub-Saharan Africa and Asia. They are primarily nocturnal and can live from ten to fourteen years in their natural environment."

Emma was trying not to lose her patience. She should probably move on; the Scarecrow couldn't help her and she couldn't afford to waste time. Still, a horrified fascination kept her asking questions. Although maybe short, direct questions would complicate things less.

"Do you need me to cut you down?" Emma asked, setting her hands on the fence in case she needed to jump over it. She didn't actually have anything sharp with which to cut down the ropes, which could prove to be problematic.

"Scarecrows are mannequins dressed in human clothes. They are placed in fields so as to discourage birds such as crows or sparrows from feeding on the crops."

"That's a no then, huh. I guess you could always bore the birds away." Emma shrugged, taking her hands away from the fence. "Can you tell me the quickest way to the Emerald City? You know, without the definitions?"

Logically, the Scarecrow had no emotions and yet Emma could swear that he was faintly amused by her question.

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road," he replied simply.

Emma nodded with the resignation of one who has just had their time wasted.

"Well," she sighed, "at least you didn't sing it."

* * *

**Fun fact #1: In the original novel by Frank L. Baum, the ruby slippers were silver. They were changed to ruby in the movie to take advantage of the fact that the film was in Technicolor.**

**Fun fact #2: One of the very first scenes I thought of for this whole fic was Emma and Hook walking away from the Munchkin town with "so fucking done" looks on their faces.**

**Fun fact #3: I listened to _The Wizard of Oz_ soundtrack on repeat and now I think I'm insane.**


	10. Chapter Ten

**A/N**: First of all I'm sorry for the long wait, I was abroad on an internship for three weeks and didn't have much time to myself. More recently someone I care for very much was admitted to hospital for an indefinite amount of time. I hope you've never been in the position of wondering whether every time you say goodbye to someone will be the last time, and if you have then I can only offer my sympathy and understanding. I know this is personal, but you leave such lovely reviews and I don't want to disappoint you without an explanation as to why I might not be up to scratch in this chapter. I don't want to disappoint you at all, of course, but I'm finding it difficult to be my best right now. I hope you can be patient with the short chapter, as well as its flaws. I am by no means abandoning the story; if anything, updates will be more frequent now that I'm back home and restricted in how often I can visit the hospital. I write to escape and to provide an escape for you guys, should you need it.

With my love,

- Bel

* * *

Hook felt vindicated when his path led to neat, manicured gardens. Not so unsuccessful after all, was he? He wished Emma was there so he could point out how wrong she had been. He _wasn't_ a failure, and it bothered him an unreasonable amount that Emma of all people should think it of him. Well, he would show her. He would reach the Emerald City with time to spare.

After the drab land of Transylvania, Oz was almost painful to look at in its cheerful brightness. Hook had never been one for color, particularly after he had lost Milah, and so the palette borderline offended him. Even the birds were obnoxious in their tweeting, with almost incessant –

He stilled as a dry sob caught his ears. It was a small sound, scratchy and pathetic, but he was alert to any signs of danger. Best to keep walking; even if it wasn't a ploy to distract him from his destination, Hook didn't particularly want to stop and discuss feelings. Yet the volume of the sobbing increased as Hook passed by until it bordered on a hysterical scream. After a moment of wrestling with himself, Hook turned back and walked towards the crying heap, unsure if he was about to comfort or murder. He stepped off the yellow path and onto the soft grass, a tense hand on the hilt of his sword just in case.

The grass swallowed his footsteps, granting him silent movements, though he didn't feel as though he was the one in control of the situation. For one thing, he couldn't understand where the crying was coming from. Was someone hiding behind one of the trees? The only other things about was a pile of scrap metal and some fallen leaves, neither of which seemed likely culprits.

"I'm in need of direction," he called out, his eyes scanning his surroundings. He told himself that this was merely a ploy to lure someone out into the open; as a man – and more importantly, as a pirate – he would not admit to being lost, even when directions would prove to be useful.

Metal scraped against metal as the pile of what Hook had assumed to be scrap took on a life of its own. Through his alarm, he could make out arms, legs and even a head, at which he aimed his sword at before the creature was fully upright. Only then could the Captain appreciate what an oddity he had come across. A creation in the vague shape of a human that stood as tall as Hook himself. Hook stared at the creature, his sword stopped just short of scraping against the quivering metal. Judging by its disconcertingly human eyes, wide with fear, it was not out to attack.

"What are you?" Hook asked, continuing to level his sword even though he wasn't sure of how much damage it would do.

The creature drew in a shuddering gasp that rattled around in his chest.

"I, I-I…I, I-" He swallowed and tried again, exhibiting more terror than Hook had seen in man or beast. "I…I-I-I-"

Realizing the futility, Hook lowered the sword and took a step back. Relief flooded the thing's face as it straightened up. He slapped a hand to his hollow chest and took deep breaths until he was no longer on the verge of hyperventilation.

"What are you?" Hook repeated, this time more curious than forceful. "You look to be a man, yet you're not flesh."

The thing attempted a smile, though his lips still twitched horribly through fear. "I'm the Tin Man."

"That's a description, not a name," Hook said, ignoring the obvious irony.

"I don't have any other name than that," the Tin Man with an apologetic half-shrug. His joints screeched with the effort. "You're not going to cut me open, are you?"

Hook sheathed the weapon. "Not today, no." He eyed the creation with growing interest. There was no telling what information he might learn from it regarding Oz; he could at the very least try and discover a shortcut that would propel him ahead of Emma. "You're going to help me."

"I…I am?"

"Indeed."

Concern filled the Tin Man's eyes. "Oh, but I'm no use to anyone!"

So, that was how it was going to be. Interesting how little people knew one moment and then, with the right encouragement, could suddenly fill encyclopedias with knowledge in the next.

The Captain angled his hook in the vaguely threatening manner that he had long since learnt gained him what he wanted. "Now isn't the time for an attack of low self-esteem."

To his very great surprise, it did not have the intended effect of scaring the Tin Man into acquiescence. His eyes caught on the hook, certainly, but in keen interest rather than fear.

"You…you're made of metal too," the Tin Man said with a wobbly nod to the pirate's replacement hand.

Hook cast an unimpressed glance towards his namesake, irritated at the lack of impact. "Indeed I am. We're practically kin."

"Kin?" the Tin Man echoed softly. He sniffed. "I had kin, once."

To Hook's absolute horror the Tin Man began to wail again, tears flooding from his eyes at an alarming rate. Hook, entirely unused to crying fits, could only hover awkwardly. Had he caught the Tin Man at a particularly bad time or was the creature in an eternal state of melancholy? Neither were good indicators that Hook would receive directions anytime soon. Given that this was not a situation he could fight or flirt his way out of, Hook turned his attempts at empty-sounding consolations.

"Come now, you'll rust if you carry on like that."

"I once had a friend who was very smart," the Tin Man said, his voice hitching as more tears leaked from his eyes. "He found a way to stop me from ever rusting or needing oiling again."

_Damn_, thought Hook. There went his only non-violent method of making the creature stop. As he was considering how to extract himself from the situation with the information he needed, the Tin Man continued unbidden.

"All I ever wanted was a heart."

"A heart?" Hook repeated, confused. He recalled hundreds of nights wishing he could tear his own heart from his chest, certain that the gaping wound it left behind would be better than the pain of keeping it inside him. "Why would you want something like that?"

The Tin Man's tears dried as he became thoughtful.

"I can't remember anymore," he said, looking into the trees with a distant expression. "I think I wanted to feel love…but now I feel sad or happy or scared or angry, sometimes so strongly that I can't think straight. Is that love?"

After a hesitation and three hundred years' worth of memories crashing against each other in his mind, Hook nodded. "Aye. That's love."

"Oh." The Tin Man thought over the answer for a moment. "I thought it would be different. It hurts more than in the stories."

The admission, both naïve and terribly wise, threw Hook further than ever outside of his comfort zone.

"It isn't all sorrow," he said, trying for an unknown reason to vouch for the emotion that had all but destroyed him over the last three centuries. It unsettled him to realize that it was not Milah's face that swam behind his eyes as he considered the benefits of affection. He quickly focused on the memory of her face, replacing golden hair with black. "But I understand. I lost someone I loved. You can't just sit and cry about it all the time."

The Tin Man frowned at this new concept. "Well…what are _you_ doing about it?"

Hook felt a dim echo of the self-importance that used to flow through him when he considered his life's purpose. "I'm getting my revenge on the demon who took her away from me," he said, grim determination setting his features.

"And then what?"

"And then I…" Hook stopped. He didn't have to explain himself to this metallic thing. What did it matter about his plans, or lack thereof, after he completed his mission? His voice took on a defensive edge. "And then I'll do something else."

The Tin Man had a rare flash of insight and tilted his head to the side as best he could, despair on his features.

"You don't have anything else to stay alive for? That's sadder than losing love in the first place."

Hook stared at the Tin Man, incredulous that he could elicit pity from such a piteous thing. Despite the complete lack of condescension in his tone, Hook felt his incredulity turn to anger. The Tin Man knew _nothing_, not about love and not about loss. He had gone to a Wizard just to feel something and had been given little more than a second-hand grasp of emotion for his effort. Granting emotion without the capacity of feeling more than one amplified thing at a time had been a cruel trick and Hook, his fury fading the longer he thought on this topic, wondered if it had been a deliberate move by the Wizard. After all, if the Wonderful Wizard of Oz was so powerful a man then how could his magic backfire so drastically? Unless, of course, that was the intention. He was beginning to sound like a genie; he would grant a wish but in a damaging way. Hook had never been foolish enough to deal with one of the creatures but he had heard the tales, and there were too many ways in which Emma's wish of being reunited with her son could go wrong. Best they stick to the plan of retrieving the ruby slippers, although Hook had no idea what they were used for. He had just taken it on faith that they would provide transport to Storybrooke.

_Faith._

Since when had he implicitly trusted the word of another without as much as a question? He needed to take a step back from the situation, from Emma, and remember that they were in a mutually beneficial arrangement and nothing more.

(He refused to let his mind wander to other mutually beneficial arrangements they could engage in)

In order for a mutually beneficial arrangement to take place, it had to be…well, mutual. His time apart from Emma was proving more infuriating than being in her presence and it was the best thing for their mission – and his sanity – that they reunite as soon as possible. Hook focused back on the Tin Man.

"Well, this has been interesting," he said, using the kindest possible word given the situation, "but I have to go and prove someone wrong. What's the quickest way to the Emerald City? I'm meeting with the Wizard." He couldn't help adding a slightly bitter, "He's a _whiz_, apparently."

"Oh, he's a whiz alright," the Tin Man said miserably. "If ever a whiz there was."

"But you can't ask him to do anything about…" Hook trailed off, waving his hand at the Tin Man in place of finishing his sentence with _the mess you're in_.

"I don't know," the Tin Man admitted. "Every time I try to leave the forest I come across a baby bird that's fallen from its nest or flowers that have been trampled on and I just-" He tried and failed to stifle his tears at these tragedies. "If only I had the courage…but no, shouldn't ask for courage. Don't want to end up like the Lion."

Hook ignored his mutterings, more than half-convinced that the Tin Man was verging on incomprehensible insanity. This whole damn place was almost as mad as Wonderland and no less infuriating.

"The Emerald City, if you please."

The Tin Man lifted his head and blinked at Hook's curt and impatient tone. He gathered his thoughts quickly. "The quickest way is through the poppy fields, but it's dangerous."

"But quick," Hook said, making his way back down to the path. He did not trust the Tin Man's definition of dangerous considering he cried at the drop of a hat.

"Y-yes," the Tin Man said with a frown, "but you seem to have missed the part about the danger."

"No, I heard it perfectly. Field full of dangerous flowers and me without my pruning shears." Hook glanced back and, seeing the worry on the Tin Man's face, suppressed a sigh. "What's the danger?"

"The Wicked Witch of the West once cast a sleeping draught on the poppies and some of the poison still lingers in the buds," the Tin Man said quickly before Hook could change his mind about caring. "But you can avoid it. There's a pathway around the poppy fields that'll add barely half a day to your journey."

"Half a day?" Hook repeated, dismayed. What if the path Emma had taken led her around the poppy fields, or even worse bypassed them completely? She would reach the Emerald City ahead of him, and he could just picture her expression when he arrived hours later than her all because he wasn't able to run through a few flowers. "I can't afford to lose that much time."

"Oh, but you'll lose so much longer if the poison gets you!"

"If," Hook repeated, a grin already forming at the thought of the challenge. "A word dependent on luck and skill. It's lucky I'm so skilful." With a hundred plans already racing through his mind, he relished the feel of solid brick underneath his boots. "Cheers for the help, mate."

He almost meant it.


End file.
